


Your Voice Like Thunder in the Night

by ZionSunrise



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bottom Dean, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Incest, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John Winchester's A+ parenting skills, M/M, Really I'm more of a destiel shipper but I just got this idea, Right?, Sam likes it, Slash, So much angst, Top Sam, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, Winchestercest - Freeform, Yikes, and it just kind of came out, dean is a ho, like guys, needy sub dean, this is angstier than a MCR concert in 2004, toppy Sam, you know they're brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZionSunrise/pseuds/ZionSunrise
Summary: Sam Winchester learns all about sex by listening to Dean and the partners he brings home when he thinks Sammy is asleep.  But at a certain point, it becomes something more than learning about sex for Sam, something dangerous and huge.Underage tag is there just in case.  Story starts when Sam is a teenager.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Other(s), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 113
Kudos: 370





	1. Beginnings

  
  
It started innocent. Sam reminded himself of that every time his head went through the fucked-up chain of events, trying to figure out why it had all happened. Really, it had been _perfectly_ innocent. Sam fourteen, not even sure what to do with his boners yet. Dean barely nineteen, cock-sure and full of enough bravado to keep a frat house powered for a year, not to mention a fake ID good enough to fool anyone but a hunter. John gone (again), Dean bringing a girl back (again), only this time, Sam had been too tired to even lift his head. Every other time, at least that Sam knew of, Dean sent him out of the room with a ten dollar bill and a wink, pointing toward the nearest movie theatre or arcade. Every other time, Sam had grumbled, but gotten up and left. But that time... 

"Sammy," Dean had whispered. Sam couldn't even muster up the energy to groan. He felt like he was ten feet underwater, too exhausted to drag himself to consciousness. "Sammy," Dean said again, a little louder. Sam didn't move. Maybe if he didn't move, Dean would tell the girl to get lost and he could get some goddamn _sleep_. Instead, he sealed his own goddamn fate. If he could go back now and just tell Dean to fuck off... "It's okay, we just gotta be quiet." Sam frowned, sticking his head deeper against his pillow. Despite himself, he was awake. He froze as the unmistakable smack of lips echoed around the room. His heart dropped and his mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Are you sure-" a feminine voice whispered. 

"He's out of it. Sleeps heavy, trust me. Come on, Angela-"

"Amelia," she corrected, and the smacking sounds started up again. Sam should say something. He should make his presence known. He was going to get stuck here, listening to his brother- the thought should gross him out, he knew. But he stayed still. Shock. He could blame this on shock later and pretend the small stirring of curiosity in his gut was just a figment of his imagination. There was a soft thump. Sam's mind filled it in. Clothes hitting the floor. The girl moaned softly. Dean's hands, calloused fingers and hard palms touching her bare skin. What would it feel like to touch like that? To _be_ touched like that? 

The sounds went on, and Sam's hand reached around his hard-on as he listened, unable to help himself. He could almost feel the moment Dean slipped inside of her from Dean's sharp exhale and the girl's whimper. The bed rocked, and Sam heard each of Dean's sounds. He stroked himself in rhythm with the bed, trying to imagine what sex would feel like, what it would be like to have somebody beneath him, moaning for him like that. Dean was louder than the girl, but that didn't matter. The moans- it didn't matter who they were coming from. They were lewd and new and sent shivers through Sam's body and pleasure spiralling from where his hand moved. He lost his rhythm after a few minutes, his hips desperately jerking, chasing something he'd only felt a few times before. Then Dean groaned loudly, the bed stilled, and Sam came hard, his body shaking as pleasure made his mind go blank. The world faded back into reality, and Sam was vaguely aware of Dean throwing the girl her clothes, of a whispered conversation, of her slipping out. Dean's heavy weight dented their bed, and Sam felt his heat filling the space between them. It only took a few seconds for Dean to start snoring, but Sam stayed awake, his heart pounding and his mind full of new knowledge about sex.

And at first, that was all it was. Still so innocent, just curious about what actually happened when two people got naked and rolled around together. What it sounded like. What it would feel like, because sometimes Sam would have sworn that he could feel just what Dean was feeling when they came together, a bed apart. 

The next time Dean brought a girl back, a few days after the first time, Sam feigned sleep, his heart racing as he waited for Dean to shake him awake, to call him out, to make him leave. Dean did nothing of the sort, apparently happy to accept that Sammy was asleep and dead to the world. So Sam carefully repositioned his body, trying to make it look like he was rolling in his sleep until he had a good view of their dad's- at least when he was there- bed. 

It started the same way it had before, only this time Sam could see it, see the way Dean's hands rested on the girl's ass, moving upward, stroking her hair, guiding her clothes off her body before throwing them to the floor in a wrinkled pile. The room was dim, but light enough that Sam could see the strange intense expression in his brother's eyes- lust, he realized. That emotion he'd read about, the kind that controlled people, that ruined lives if left unchecked. The thrill of it sent a shiver through Sam's body, and his hand found its way to his cock before he realized what he was doing. Dean got the girl on the bed, his hand sliding between her legs, lips moving around her neck. This girl was more vocal, sighing out so loudly that Dean muttered a soft "Shh- don't wake my brother-" before returning to whatever he was doing to her. Sam watched this time as the girl's hand slid to Dean's dick- Sam couldn't quite see, but he imagined it looked about the same as his did- and guided it inside her.

This time Sam could see it. He bit his lip to keep the noises inside as he watched Dean thrust in hard between the girl's legs. The girl moaned loudly and Sam found himself wishing she'd be quiet so it could be like the last time. Dean seemed to think the same thing. 

"Shh," he said again, seeming frustrated. "My brother- Sammy-" And with just that word, Sam's hand clamped down on his cock and he came, his hips weakly rutting into his pam, mind blank with pleasure. When he came down, his skin fuzzy and warm, mind barely able to even think, his eyes were drawn back to the bed, back where Dean was fucking- because that's what it was, not love-making, not just sex- _fucking_ \- the girl. She was still grunting, groaning, moaning, too loud. Sam wanted to hear her say his name. Or Dean. Just hearing his name in that breathless sort of whisper coated in lust and promise... well, it had been enough to overload his brain. And now, sensitive and wrung-out as he felt- he just wanted to hear it again. 

He watched them, more clinical now that his own urges had been sated. Dean pounded her hard, his hands on either side of her head, thrusting rhythmically, making the cheap bed shake. She cried out loudly, but Dean made a frustrated sound.

"Look- can you- will you just get on top?" Sam's brother hissed. Sam watched as they switched positions, the girl climbing on top of Dean. Her long hair shimmered in the moonlight as she began to bounce up and down on Dean's cock, still making the obscene noises. Sam wondered if they were fake. Dean wasn't even touching her. "Can you- will you hold my hands down?" Dean whispered, his voice holding the same shade of fake bravery it held whenever he was ashamed of something and desperately trying to hide it. The girl let out a breathless laugh.

"You wanna be treated like a bitch, baby?" she asked, something cold and mean beneath the surface of her voice. Dean growled, actually growled, and flipped her back over, this time onto her stomach.

"Fuck you. Just like the way- fuck-" Dean pounded into her, harder this time. Angry sex. Sam hadn't even realized people COULD fuck when they were angry, but Dean was pumping away now, hard and fast, holding the girl to the mattress... Dean came with a loud groan, finally breaking through the din of the girl. Sam felt his cock twitch with interest at the sound. This time Dean didn't have a conversation with the girl, didn't help her get dressed. He just pointed, gave her an annoyed huff, and collapsed next to Sam on the bed.

"Freak," the girl muttered before leaving. Sam was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Very aware that Dean was still naked, mere feet from him, reeking of sex. Sam stayed as still as a frozen statue. The hotel door shut loudly. Dean sighed, his warm hand landing on Sam's back. Sam thought he could feel every callous on Dean's fingers, every scar. He shivered.

"Did I wake ya, kiddo?" Dean asked, voice laced with guilt. Sam shifted, making his best impression of a sleepy noise.

"Girl did," he mumbled thickly. He turned to face his brother, hoping what he'd heard- what he'd _seen_ \- wasn't etched into his face. "Not your fault."

"Psycho," Dean muttered. Sam watched his dark form closely. Then he turned away again, unable to meet Dean's guilty gaze. "Sorry."

"'S okay," Sam murmured, suddenly very warm and very tired. He scooted back without thinking, like he used to do when he was a kid, his back pressed to Dean's chest. Dean stiffened for a moment, then slung a heavy arm across Sam's chest. 

"Night, Sammy." 

"Night, Dean." 

Sam listened every time, sometimes daring himself to watch, for the next year. He'd quietly get himself off to the sounds of it, trying not to think too hard about why. He liked hearing sex. It was just like live-action porn, wasn't it? Just hearing the sounds of fucking, watching a girl get fucked- Every teenaged- boy did that. And it didn't matter who the guy was in porn, so it didn't matter that the guy doing the fucking Sam listened to was Dean. That was incidental. The important part, the part he liked, was the sex. And if sometimes, after Dean left the vacant bed open for John, just in case he came home, Sam clawed for creature comfort by pressing himself up against his brother- well- that was just something hunters did. Where else was he going to get his need for familial affection met? John Winchester? That was laughable. So maybe he was getting too old to cuddle with his brother. He didn't care. Dean didn't seem to care. Everything was fine. At least until Dean brought back the first guy.

Everything started the same. Dean had left, with a wink for Sam and a promise to be home late. Sam stayed awake, nervous anticipation keeping him jittery. What kind of girl would it be this time? Would she be as loud as Dean? Would this be one of the ones that held Dean down when he asked, or slapped his face? Those were Sam's favorites, although he couldn't say why. Maybe he just liked the thought of dominant girls? But that wasn't it. He knew that as soon as he thought about it for more than a second. Maybe he just wanted to dominate someone. That was more likely. Hearing Dean's soft inhales, his muffled groans when the girls slapped him, when they tried to hold him down- Sam just wanted to make someone sound like that. Wanted to draw those noises out of someone's throat, choke them, slap them, hold them down until they submitted... 

Sam was fucked up. He knew that. But at least it definitely wasn't Dean he fantasized about late at night when his hand wandered down and his mind wandered out. It was a faceless, bodiless woman. Dominating her... when Dean let himself get dominated, Sam could just project onto that. 

Dean came home late, and the door clicked shut, and Sam waited for the sounds he knew would follow.

"We gotta be quiet," Dean said like he always did. "My brother's asleep."

"Okay," another voice said, and Sam's heart caught in his throat. That was a man's voice. What the fuck was a man doing here? For a second, he thought it might be part of a hunt, or part of some money-making scheme Dean had deemed too risky to involve Sam in. He rolled surreptitiously onto his side, his eyes half-lidded, cracked just enough for him to see. But then the man stepped forward, sliding his thumbs into Dean's belt-loops, and Dean exhaled sharply, leaning forward. In the dim light from the moon and distant streetlamps, Sam could see that the man was a few inches taller than Dean. Maybe as tall as Sam himself was, as his growth spurt had been hitting him hard. The guy's hand was strictly placed at Dean's waist, his fingers tracing patterns, and Dean exhaled sharply as the guy pressed his lips to Dean's. Sam held his breath. Dean pulled away.

"I don't know about kissing, man," he muttered. The other guy snorted, his hand wrapping around the back of Dean's neck, crushing Dean back to him. Dean seemed to resist for a moment, then melted against the guy. That sight alone- surrender- Sam let out a shuddery breath that probably would have been too loud, if the two weren't otherwise occupied. He watched as his brother was fondled, his chin grabbed, neck bit, nails dragged down his skin, all by a man. Was this Dean's first time doing this? His normal easy confidence seemed shaken, and he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. When the tall guy pushed him onto the bed, Dean went, compliant, his eyes wide. 

"You a top or a bottom?" 

"Uh- I dunno, I've never really-" Dean looked uncomfortable. "What do you like to be-"

"Spoken like a true bottom," the guy said, looming over Dean. Dean looked so small, so overwhelmed- Sam's cock twitched, and he couldn't help himself. He palmed it through his thin boxers, thrills rushing through him as he watched them take their clothes off. The guy pushed Dean back down, pouring something out of a bottle. His hand reached between Dean's legs, but Dean grabbed his wrist.

"I've never- will you just- go slow?" Dean's voice shook. Sam watched intently, amazed at Dean coming unravelled like this. The guy leaned forward again, kissing Dean hard and extracting his hand. Sam watched it trail down Dean's skin lightly as their lips melded, finally disappearing once more between Dean's legs. Dean let out a sharp hiss of air, and Sam nearly came right there when he realized what was happening. That guy had a finger inside of Dean. And Dean- Dean liked it. He let out soft little whimpery noises and his hips bucked upward. Sam was moments from orgasm just from the sounds. The other guy chuckled.

"Shh- your brother, remember?"

"Fuck-" Dean murmured, gasping and thrusting his hips upward. "Sammy-" Sam came, biting his lip to keep from screaming out his brother's name. When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, he was shaking. And Dean was getting fucked by a guy feet away from him, moaning like a bitch in heat, face down and ass up, and Sam was hard again in seconds. 

"Good boy," the guy said, his hand on Dean's neck, pressing his head down into the mattress. "Put the pillow in your mouth. Keep quiet." Dean obeyed, and that alone had Sam touching his sensitive dick again, just gentle pressure as he watched Dean. The guy's hands had to be bruising his hips, he was holding them so tightly... Sam wondered if Dean liked that. Probably did. He liked getting slapped in the face, liked when girls tried to hold him- what must it be like with someone who could actually hold him? Dean made a low noise in the back of his throat, then practically screamed out his orgasm. Sam came with him, his cock hurting as much as it felt good. For a long long moment, the room was silent. Then the guy chuckled a last time, and Dean laughed beneath him, embarrassment hovering in every note. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean mused to himself. "Didn't even know I was into guys." 

"I'd say you're into guys," the guy said. Sam laughed silently to himself. He dressed and left, and Dean slipped into bed beside Sam wearing nothing but his boxers. Sam rolled over, almost unable to help himself. He didn't want to think too hard about what had just happened, about his reaction to it. So he didn't. He just tugged at Dean's body until the stiffness left, then pulled Dean flush against his stomach. Dean went willingly, his body soft and fucked-out against Sam. And Sam realized, and maybe even admitted to himself for just a second, that he might have just the slightest attraction to his own brother.


	2. Chapter 2

And so it went. John stumbled off on hunts or on a drunk, leaving Dean with Sam. Dean went out, brought someone (more likely to be a man, as time went on) home. And Sam watched. A few months after the first gay time, Dean stopped asking if Sam was awake. Sam's brain instantly went into hyperdrive, trying to analyze why. Maybe Dean just expected him to stay asleep at this point. That would be the most logical non-fucked-up situation. But the darker part of Sam's brain- the part that loved it best when Dean's voice was wrecked, when pain matched the pleasure in his brother's eyes- thought it might be something more. He wondered if- and fuck, if he was being honest with himself, he hoped- Dean was growing used to Sam being there, conscious or unconscious. A part of him even thought that maybe- just maybe- Dean might know what he had been up to. That Dean might somehow get off on the fact that Sam watched. But that- that was insane. Dean was fucking normal. He didn't fantasize about the freaky fucked-up incest shit Sam did in his most desperate moments, right before he came.

Still, more and more when Dean had finished and sent his partners off, he lay close to Sam, let Sam tug his exhausted body tightly up against Sam's, let Sam hold him, let Sam feel the warm heavy weight of his body as they both drifted off to sleep. They hunted more and more, Sam reluctant, Dean eager to please their father. And when they weren't hunting, when things went calm and they'd have a week or two to recover, John made them spar.

"Go on," John said one memorable day a few months after Sam had turned sixteen, pulling a long swig from his 'pepsi.' "Get out there and practice. Full two hours. Don't pull punches. This sort of practice is what'll keep you alive out in the field. Understood?"

"Yessir," Dean said quickly, and Sam found himself wondering what he would have to do to have Dean call him sir... He felt himself flush and coughed awkwardly to hide it. 

"Okay," he answered, staring John down until his father looked away. He felt a sick rush of satisfaction. John wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't stupid enough to think that. But he didn't want Sam to do something drastic like leave or convince Dean they should go off on their own. So he put up with small mutinies and Sam lost more respect for him by the day. He followed Dean out past the motel into a barren field covered with long dead grass. Anticipation curled in his stomach.

"I'll take it easy on ya, kiddo," Dean said, throwing an easy grin in Sam's direction. Sam didn't smile back. It wasn't often he got a real chance to show off to Dean, not often that he could prove just how fast his body had grown and molded to something manly, something bigger and stronger than Dean. And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of pinning Dean down in the dirt, his arms pinned at his sides, was horrifically enticing. 

"Don't," he said, lunging at Dean. 

Dean stepped to the side, clearly expecting it, and Sam reeled trying to follow him, a step off balance. Dean capitalized on it, grabbing Sam's arm and yanking it behind his back. His full weight hit Sam, forcing him forward, and Sam was forced to lurch his free arm out to break his fall, giving Dean better access. Dean's knees easily held down Sam's thighs and his hand held Sam's arm behind his back. Sam stilled for a second, letting his brother think he'd won. Dean's grasp was too loose, too purposefully weak, probably worried about hurting Sam. Sam felt a flash of annoyance at that thought. He pushed himself sideways with his free hand. Slammed Dean into the ground with his arm still behind him. Rolled his back on top of Dean with all of his weight until his brother released his arm, swearing. 

"Fuck, Sam, that hurt," Dean hissed, shoving Sam off. They stared at each other, Sam panting, Dean's eyes gleaming with real anger now.

"Told you not to take it easy on me," Sam said, pulling himself into a defensive crouch. Dean scowled, matching him. 

"Fine." 

Dean approached slowly, his eyes feral and dark, and Sam watched. When Dean swung, Sam wasn't ready, and the punch connected hard with his jaw, sending him stumbling back. He rallied quickly, fists flying before he consciously willed them to. Dean struck back at first, but after a few moments, his hands were raised defensively, looking to block, Sam grabbed his wrists, tugging them sharply until his arms were criss-crossed, no leverage. A knee to Dean's stomach and he buckled, feet coming close together, easy to push over. Sam crowed, a breathless huff that could have been a laugh escaping from his lips as he tugged Dean's arms above his head and pinned them, his lower body easily incapacitating his brother. 

Sam stared down at Dean, something growling and powerful and warm growing in his chest. Dean's face was swelling, and his nose was bleeding, and he was going to have a black eye in a few days for sure. But that wasn't what drew his gaze. What made him look- stare- unable to turn away- was the gleam in Dean's eyes, the slackness of his mouth, the pure lust written all over his face. Look at  _ Sam  _ with an expression that just so clearly screamed  _ fuck me _ that all he wanted to do was lean down, press his lips against Deans, feel him- But he had to be imagining it. He shook his head to clear it, then let go, moving off Dean and collapsing beside him, his cock hard and throbbing at the zipper of his jeans. He hoped Dean hadn't noticed.

For a long moment, there was no sound except the insects around them and the distant buzz of cars from the highway. Then Dean laughed, all free and breathy and reckless. Sam startled. Then he laughed too, rolling to his side and daring himself to meet Dean's eyes, all crinkled green, lust Sam had imagined there gone, replaced with pride.

"You're gettin' good, Sammy. You've never beat me before."

"You didn't let me win, did you?" Sam asked. He knew Dean hadn't. The way his brother had grappled at him, the way real fear flashed in his eyes... That wasn't pretend. But if Dean wanted a way out, Sam would give it to him.

"No," Dean said. All his bravado, at least for the moment, was gone. Dean seemed to realize it, and forced a grin to his face. "No, Sasquatch. You're getting an advantage just being so-" he glanced up and down Sam's body, and Sam found himself wishing his dick was invisible. If Dean noticed his hard-on, he didn't say anything. "-Big."

And Dean was right about that. The past year saw Sam shooting up like a weed, and not just that, with all the sparring and running his scrawny frame was filling out. He noticed it more when he was next to Dean. These days, he had to look down to meet his brother's eyes. It turned him on beyond belief, but most of the time he was able to convince himself it was just because he associated Dean with the people he had sex with, and he was attracted to  _ those _ people.

"Jealous?" Sam asked.

"Fuck no," Dean said. "I like being able to fit through normal-person doors." He considered, blinking. His eyelashes were long enough to catch the fading sunlight, and for a second Sam had to admit to himself just how pretty Dean was like this, grinning, full of adrenaline and bruises and fight. "Guess it's gotta be nice when we're up against big monsters, though. I don’t got that natural  _ scary _ factor."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," Sam said. Dean's eyes gleamed for just a second, the look gone so fast that Sam was sure he imagined it. Then he gave Sam a mock scowl. 

"Yeah, up yours, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam said, unable to keep the grin off his face. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up."

When they got back to the motel, Sam claimed the first shower as his victory prize. Dean hadn't argued. As soon as the door was safely shut and the water turned on, Sam's pants were off. He didn't even bother with his shirt. He was too desperate. He grabbed at his cock, groaning and hoping the water was loud enough to cover the sound of it. The thought of Dean beneath him, struggling but utterly unable to get away, at Sam's mercy, looking up with those big green eyes in a sort of half-terror, half-need- Sam stroked himself hard, breath catching in his throat. He came to the thought of cumming all over Dean's pretty open face, mouthing Dean's name, trying to keep his voice in his throat. He wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. His heart raced so fast he thought he might be dying, but gradually it slowed. Sam looked down. He hadn't even made it into the shower before spilling all over his own stomach. His skin tingled. And all at once guilt smacked into him harder than a freight train. 

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, stepping beneath the hot water. "Fuck." This wasn't getting off to the sounds of Dean and a stranger fucking. This was new. This was worse. So much worse. He hadn't projected his arousal onto some faceless stranger this time. He had actively thought about cumming all over his own brother to get off. He'd let the dark fucked-up creature he usually kept chained up off its leash. And now- now he wasn't sure if he'd be able to lock it back up again. Someone pounded at the door.

"Sammy! You turning into a fish in there, or what?" 

Sam shut off the water and wrapped his quaking body in a towel. He pushed past Dean, not meeting his eyes. When they slept, Sam was very careful not to touch Dean, and to roll away when Dean automatically reached for him. Dean grunted his half-way asleep grunt and swung his arm heavily around Sam's midsection. Sam tried to tug away, but Dean just grunted, scooting up against him before Sam could stop him. He sighed, wondering how much of a pervert he was to be enjoying this. But if he pulled away, that would look weirder. They'd slept touching each other almost every night since the first time Sam came to Dean saying his name. So Sam leaned back into Dean's touch, shuddering at the comfort and the warmth and the strange flutterings in his stomach. Dean's body was like a sedative. Worry slowly left him and he fell into the heavy arms of sleep.

Things were worse when John was around. They always had been, but now, with Dean an adult, and Sam practically there, it was worse. Three grown-ass men living together in tiny motel rooms for days on end, John bad-tempered constantly with a drink in his hand. And John drinking led to Dean sneaking liquor himself, probably just to deal with keeping their dad and Sam off each other's throats. Nights were the worst, though. Dean couldn't bring anyone home, so often he stayed out late, got yelled at by John when he stumbled in drunk and late. And when he didn't go out, they didn't touch. Not until Sam was sure their dad was asleep. But then it was like he couldn't help himself. He couldn't sleep without feeling Dean pressed up against him somehow, and every night when it was dark enough not to matter, when Dean and John were both snoring from too much booze, Sam maneuvered himself around his brother. 

It was almost two months before John left them alone again, heading off on a hunt alone.

"Dean, take care of your brother," he barked as he threw his duffle over his shoulder.

"Dad, kid's almost seventeen. He doesn't need me to take care of him." John huffed and walked out. Sam scowled.

"I'm not a  _ kid _ , Dean." Dean's grin grew wicked, and he punched Sam lightly.

"Sure y'are, Sammy."

"Kid who kicked  _ your _ ass," Sam mumbled. Dean flipped him off.

"See ya later," Dean said, as Sam knew he would. It didn't take more than five minutes of John being gone for Dean to rush out to fulfill his pent-up urges. Sam watched him go, cracking open a beer and trying to soothe his nerves. He should just leave, just go catch a movie or walk around the town or do  _ anything _ else but wait for his drunk brother to come home with a stranger to fuck. He flipped on the TV, knowing he wasn't going to move a fucking inch out of the room. He had two more beers, checked the clock- almost midnight. He curled up in bed, positioning himself for the best view like a freak. Then he waited. 

"Gotta be quiet," Dean said the second he was inside the door, not even glancing in Sam's direction. "Can't wake my brother."

"Cool," a deep male voice said, and Sam cheered in his head. A guy. He'd been hoping for a guy, and usually when Dean went this long without bringing someone home, it was good...Dean reached up and grabbed the guy's neck, pulling their faces together. Dean didn't hold back with kissing guys anymore, he took what he wanted, got handsy, knew what he was doing... Sam had a few kisses under his belt now, and even an awkward fumbling blowjob from a girl in the back seat of an old Honda Civic, but that was enough experience to appreciate someone who really knew what they were doing. And Dean... Dean knew what he was doing.

Sam watched as the other guy took back control, yanking at Dean's shirt and pulling it over his head. His hands were pale across Dean's chest, stopping to tweak a nipple and earning a sharp gasp from Dean. Sam gave up on trying to be good, trying to control himself, and let his hand find his hard cock. He stroked it, groaning as the guy bent Dean over the bed and opened him up with lube and a finger. Dean hissed, as he always did, at the initial entry, and Sam's cock twitched against his palm. The stranger added another finger, gently scissoring them, then thrusting a third in sharply. 

"Fuck," Dean gasped. He made a sound so wanton that Sam had an awful urge to spring out of bed, push the stranger aside and bury himself in his brother, fucking him until he made that sound again. He controlled it. He watched, watched as Dean groaned, leaned back into the stranger's hand until the stranger finally shoved him firmly onto the bed.

"Hands and knees," he ordered. Sam cheered silently. That was Dean's, and by extension, Sam's favorite position. It got his brother loud, had him coming without so much as a finger on his cock. Dean scrambled to obey, and the stranger ran a hand down his back, then guided his cock up to Dean's hole. Dean yelped as the stranger slowly pushed into him. Once fully inside, he waited for a moment, letting Dean get used to the feeling. Then he started to thrust, his hands locking into Dean's hips. 

It didn't take long for Dean's moans to start filling the room, sounds desperate, needy, like prayers full of curses and the sweetest song Sam had ever heard. Soon he was transfixed, feeling the blanket slipping from his body, but not really caring. Dean's hands gripped the sheets so tightly that the sheets looked like stone in the darkness. He rocked back against the stranger, his head falling back, and Sam was so goddamn close to coming at the sight of Dean vulnerable like that, so in the moment. Then three things happened in quick succession. The stranger thrust in once more and groaned. Dean bucked backward, nearly screaming with his own release, his head turning toward Sam's bed, Sam too far gone to think to cover himself. Dean's eyes met his. Sam came so hard his vision went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a shorter chapter, but this felt like a good stopping point...

Sam tugged the blanket back over himself, curling up with even his head beneath it. His heart raced. His face, he knew, was bright right, radiating heat. He wished he could sink into the mattress and that it would close up around him again. He stayed where he was, listening to the loud loud voices on the other side of the blanket, listened to the guy leave. The room grew deathly quiet. Dean was going to kick him out. To tell him he was a fucking freak and to get the hell out before John found out and disowned him. Or worse. He waited, heart thumping his fear out into the sheets. He didn't dare look. The bed creaked and his weight shifted toward the middle. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, not really sure what else to do. But to his shock, he felt a warm body move up against his. A familiar heavy arm slung across his chest.

"D-Dean?" he asked, half-expecting his brother to be replaced by a shape-shifter or something- anything- else that would explain why Dean wasn't throwing him to the floor and punching him right now. Instead, Dean pulled Sam's back to his chest and sighed.

"Night, Sammy." That was all he said. Sam stayed stock-still, sure he was dreaming. Maybe Dean hadn't seen him- but no. He had. There had been that flash of pure green, the widening in recognition, the pure  _ knowledge _ there. So why was he acting like nothing had happened? Sam knew he shouldn't say anything. Knew he should just accept the new turn of events and let it be. But he couldn't help himself.

"So what just happened-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean muttered sleepily, tugging Sam even closer to him. The warm press of his body was distracting, and Sam nearly gave into the impulse to let his fears go and just fall asleep like every other night-

"But-"

"Shut  _ up _ , Sammy," Dean repeated, annoyed growl slipping into his tone. Sam shut up. He leaned back into his brother, more confused than he'd ever been in his life. But Dean was warm, and his heartbeat was steady. Soon the arm around Sam's chest grew heavy, and Dean's breathing grew loud and even. Sam's body didn't know any other way to respond. So he let himself drift off to sleep.

They didn't talk about it the next day. Sam had a hard time meeting Dean's eyes, but his brother didn't act awkward, didn't act like anything was wrong, like anything had happened. So Sam followed his lead, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Dean to tell him he was disgusting, that he should get the hell out of dodge. Whatever that expression meant. But nothing happened. They looked for cases and found nothing. They got lunch and bickered predictably over whether burgers were worth their nutritional value (and Sam knew he'd won when Dean called him 'bitch' and flipped him off). And when they finally went to bed, Dean curled up against Sam's larger body without pull or prompting. And Sam wrapped around him, entirely unable to help himself. 

When he woke, Dean was already up, eating lucky charms from a bowl as big as his head. He grinned at Sam as Sam forced himself out of bed, squinting. 

"Heya. Got your favorite," Dean said, gesturing to the box. Sam huffed. 

"Hasn't been my favorite since I was  _ twelve _ , Dean."

"What- so last year?" Dean asked, a wicked gleam on his face. Dean had a way of doing that. Of joking, brushing things off, of getting Sam to stop acting awkward when they'd been mad at each other or Sam had done something stupid. And it was working. Sam gave him a slow grin back. 

"Jerk." Sam poured himself a bowl anyway and taking a spoonful. "Actually still pretty good."

"Damn straight. So listen, I'm thinking we should spar again. Don't wanna get out of practice with dad gone, right?" Sam nearly choked on his cereal. 

"Um- Are you sure you want to-" Sam felt his face turn bright red. Dean was either  _ really _ trying to forget the whole thing had ever happened or he was trying to make Sam feel better by acting like nothing had happened. Either way, it was an olive branch.  _ Unless _ , of course, Dean just wanted to kick his ass for what he'd done. Which he definitely deserved. Sam frowned as he realized he'd been silent for at least thirty seconds. Dean waited with his eyebrow raised. "Yeah, okay. We'll spar," he finished finally. Dean clapped him on the back. 

"Good man. Be ready in an hour." 

They had to drive a ways away from the hotel this time to find a place with enough space they wouldn't break something. Sam sat in the passenger seat, his fingers beating almost as fast as his heart against his thigh. The car was silent, and he couldn't think of anything to say. That was usually Dean's job. But his brother seemed... tense. Like he was waiting for Sam to do something else pervy and creepy so he could run away. That was fair. After what Dean had seen, Sam was surprised his brother was even giving him another chance. The only way to make things less weird would be to spar normally and not do anything creepy. Sam could handle that for a day- hell he could handle that for forever if it meant Dean didn't treat him like a freak. He'd just fight normally. Just not think about the look Dean got when he came. Not think about how pretty Dean's eyes were last time Sam had pinned him down. Not think about the sounds Dean made when some guy he barely knew was pounding his-

"So where's dad at this time?" Sam asked desperately, trying to keep his blood in his head. Dean spared him half a glance.

"Dunno. He didn't tell me. Just said if he's not back in a week-"

"Call Bobby. Doesn't it ever bother you? I mean- you're not a kid anymore. And he just takes off without giving you even a  _ state _ . Don't you want to know-"

"Don't matter," Dean said, shrugging. "If he wants me to know where he is, he tells me." Sam shook his head.

"You really are a perfect little soldier," he mused. Dean shrugged.

"Not everybody needs to lead, Sammy. Not everybody wants to. World don't work that way. Needs good soldiers." And Sam's traitorous brain played a clip of Dean on his hands and knees, begging to get held down, begging not to be in control... He cleared his throat. It didn't help. His cock perked up in interest and wouldn't go down.

"Right. Well, that's not me." Dean gave him a longer look, one Sam couldn't quite read. A look so long that Sam had to grab the steering wheel to keep them on the road. 

"I know." 

They found a spot, and Dean pulled over. He parked, and they both sat unmoving in the car. Sam wasn't sure what Dean was thinking about. He was just trying to stop picturing Dean naked. Hell, he'd settle for not picturing Dean getting fucked. How was he supposed to keep things not weird if all he could think about while they were fighting was Dean's perfect ass? He took in a few shuddery breaths, thinking of the least sexy things he could imagine. Dirty underwear. Bobby with his shirt off. Nothing seemed to really help. Dean hit the steering wheel lightly, shaking Sam from his reverie.

"C'mon." Dean followed him out of the car. Sam took his shoes off, not quite sure why. Not standard operating practice, but Dean did the same thing, so maybe his instinct was right in this case.

"No face-shots this time," Dean said. "In case dad comes back." Their dad wouldn't care. Only time he cared if they were bruised up was when it kept them from hunting. Still, Sam found himself nodding. Dean didn't smile. There was a hard glint in his eyes. And he moved at Sam first.

Dean was quick, lunging at Sam with his weight low and a hand outstretched, the other in front of his face. Sam's time slowed down, though, and he felt strangely calm. He met Dean, gripping Dean's arm just beneath the shoulder, other hand around his outstretched wrist, and tugged him off balance, throwing him toward the ground. Dean managed to catch himself. A fist flew into Sam's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He kicked out hard, half in anger, half in desperation, sweeping Dean's feet out from under him. Dean tumbled to the dirt, scrambling backward. Sam followed angrily, trying to catch his breath. He resisted the urge to get a foot on Dean's chest, to hold him still, force him to stop with the punching, but that would give Dean leverage... He stood above, waiting. 

"'S'a'matter, Sammy?" Dean spat, slowly maneuvering himself into position to stand.  _ Words distract _ , Sam thought.  _ Watch his feet.  _ "Scared you're gonna pop a boner?" 

Sam growled and leapt toward the ground, shoving a knee into Dean's stomach just beneath his ribcage. Dean let out an "oof," and fell back once more as Sam's knees and fists flew. Sam barely remembered to avoid Dean's face, hitting his chest, arms, digging knees into his soft thighs, batting away Dean's weak attempts to protect himself until they slowed. His brother stilled. Sam gripped his wrists, tugging them above Dean's head. He kept them there with an easy hand, his knees digging deeply into the flesh of Dean's thighs. His free hand landed sharply onto Dean's chest, pressing him into the dirt. Only then did he dare to look at Dean's face.

Dean looked wrecked. His eyes stared back at Sam, wide and full. His cheeks flushed bright pink, making his eyes look greener, and his lips were parted slightly in an almost obscene display. He looked like he'd just been fucked for hours. He looked like he was ready for another round, and his still body beneath Sam's was practically begging for it. Sam felt the press of something hard near his ass, near where he was holding Dean's crotch still with his body, and his mouth went dry. Dean was hard. Dean was hard and staring up at Sam like a wanton whore. Sam leaned forward before he knew what he was doing, his own hard dick pressing against Dean's stomach as he moved forward inch by inch. 

He went slowly, so slowly it felt like he was barely moving, waiting for Dean to struggle, to push him off, to call him a freak. Dean didn't move. Sam paused a few inches away, searching his brother's eyes. His heart throbbed in his throat, and he couldn't decipher the look he found there. So he stopped thinking and bridged the gap between their faces. 

Dean's lips parted for him, soft and willing, moving against Sam's in perfect coordination. Sam groaned, leaning into the kiss as Dean's back arched toward him. It was better than anything Sam's brain could have ever come up with. It was better than anything he'd ever felt, his cock throbbing with pleasure despite not being touched, his lips tingling where they met Dean's. His tongue slid into Dean's mouth, rubbing against Dean's, and the quiet little voice in the back of his head grew louder once more.  _ Brother! Wrong! Freak!  _ He stopped abruptly, pulling back. His hand still held Dean's hands down above him in the dirt, and his cock rubbed against Dean's stomach with impossible hunger. And Dean stared up at him, mouth falling open, eyes wide. It would be funny if Sam hadn't just done what he had done. He quickly let go and scrambled away, panic descending on him faster than a bird of prey.

"Shit- I'm sorry- Dean, I'm so fucking sorry," he mumbled. "I can't believe I- I'm sorry, I-"

"It's fine, Sam," Dean said, voice unreadable. Sam watched him stand, his heart thumping hard and loud. When Dean extended his hand to help Sam up, Sam almost didn't take it. He was half-afraid touching Dean would send him into the strange frenzied hunger he'd felt moments before. But he took the help, trying not to focus on the feel of Dean's warm hand in his colder one. He looked down at his brother, trying to read Dean's face. Was he going to murder Sam now or when he was asleep? But Dean offered him a grin. And while it might have been just a shade less than genuine, it was a grin nonetheless.

"Dean-"

"It's nothing, Sammy," Dean said, throwing an arm around Sam's shoulder and leading him back toward the car. "Our blood was up, we got a little overexcited. No big deal."

"No big  _ deal _ ? Dean, we can't just pretend that didn't happen by refusing to talk about it."

"Oh yes we absolutely fucking can," Dean said, giving Sam's shoulders a squeeze before pushing him toward the passenger seat. Sam got in, staring at Dean as his brother started the engine. Dean glanced over and his expression softened. "It's okay, Sammy. I promise. It's okay." Sam huffed and stared out the window. His brother was definitely possessed. 


	4. Chapter 4

They managed to go three full months pretending it hadn't happened. Sam tried to bring it up a few times, mostly just to apologize, to promise Dean it would never happen again. Every time he did, Dean changed the subject, gave him a look, or made some inappropriate joke about Sam's boners. Made even more inappropriate after what had happened. Nothing changed, really. Dean sometimes brought someone home, Sam always watched. Now, though, Dean's eyes often locked on Sam's just before he came. That flash of green- it always pushed Sam over the edge. They didn't talk about that either. John was gone for most of it, occasionally popping in and darkening their room, then disappearing once more. But Sam woke one morning to a phone buzzing on the table beside them. He groaned and hid under the pillow as Dean answered. 

"Dad? Yeah... yeah... okay. Dead man's blood. Cut the heads off. Course I know what to do with a damn- yes, sir. Yessir. We'll take care of it. Dad, when will you be-" Dean leaned into Sam, his arm warm, breath hitting Sam's cheek as he sighed. "Okay. Bye, Dad." Sam turned, trying to make his eyes as wide as he could to sway Dean from what he knew was coming.

"He's sending us on a hunt?" Dean ruffled Sam's hair, sliding from bed and leaving only cold air behind him.

"Vampire in Mobile. We're close. Pop down, snag us a vamp, get wasted on the beach? C'mon. It'll be fun." Sam sighed.

"And where the hell is he?" 

"Salt Lake. Following a lead. _Big_ lead." Sam rubbed his forehead. 

"And it doesn't _bother_ you that-"

"Dude. This'll take a day. Maybe two tops. Chill." Sam groaned, but packed his stuff up. Dean was Dad's perfect little soldier first, Sam's brother second. They were on the road again within the hour.

They found the vampire easily enough from what the locals knew, and Dean drove Baby to the outskirts of town behind an old-

"Warehouses. Why's it always a warehouse?" Dean asked, frowning up at the building. 

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe from the big bad warehouse," Sam teased, earning himself an eye roll and a middle finger.

"Got the deadman's blood?"

"Course." Dean grinned to himself.

"Swords?" Sam sighed.

"I don't get what your fascination is with swords."

"Do we have em?"

"Backseat." 

"Cool. Let's go kill us a vamp." 

The warehouse was dark, and even with as many warehouses Sam had traipsed through at night, it was creepy. He led the way, feeling a little ridiculous with a sword stretched out in front of him. Dean followed, looking a little too happy to be holding his own blade. Together, they walked along the South wall, keeping an eye open for shadows. Dean tapped his arm and gestured right, stepping toward the middle of the room. Sam flanked him, keeping an eye on their backs as Dean walked toward whatever it was he thought he saw. 

"Shit-!" Dean yelled. Sam turned way too late to see the sword yanked from Dean's hands and Dean himself shoved up against the wall, sharp fangs threatening his throat. Sam moved before he was conscious of moving. His sword fell in a swift arc, easily separating the vamp's head from its body. He dropped his sword, then grabbed the headless body, throwing it away from Dean with a snarl. It hit the ground with a loud thump. Sam watched it for a second, making sure it wouldn't get up, but the headless corpse just sat there, blood pooling around it. Easy.

Before Sam could even think, he was taking its place, crowding Dean up against the wall, his hands raking down Dean's body, checking for injuries. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, hands touching Dean's hips. He was about to pull away when Dean grabbed his wrists, holding Sam in place. Sam's brain switched gears faster than Baby in her hay day, and he was suddenly aware of how warm Dean's skin was, of how damn close they were standing. And Dean- Dean was giving him that look again. The one that screamed sex- the one that begged Sam to push him up against a wall and-

He was kissing Dean again before he knew he wanted to. Dean's lips were soft, inviting him in, easily melding with whatever Sam did. Dean followed so well, Sam thought, so damned perfectly, like he was made for it. Sam's leg made its way between Dean's legs, his thigh lifting and pressing against Dean's hard cock, drawing a groan from between his brother's lips. Sam's arms wrapped behind Dean's chest, tugging them together, pressing Dean further into the wall. Dean's tongue pressed against his as Sam forced his way into Dean's mouth, rutting against Dean's body, pressing their hard cocks together. Dean's hands fumbled with the buttons of Sam's jeans. Sam pushed Dean's down. 

Soon they were standing in pools of denim, separated only by boxers and shirts, their hands hot, running across each others bodies- Sam found one of his hands on Dean's chest, the other stroking Dean's throat slowly, gently. He listened to the soft gasping sounds slipping from Dean's mouth, keeping the hand on his throat steady while dropping the one on Dean's chest down, down, down-. His cock was throbbing, desperate for something or someone to touch it, and Sam was all too eager to oblige. But Dean's cock, pushing against Sam's stomach when he crowded Dean into the wall- Sam wasn't sure which he should touch first, and he was too turned on, too desperate- his hand wrapped around both and Dean let out a sharp hiss of air. Sam stopped, studying Dean's face for signs of pain or freaked-outness. He just saw lust.

"Move, Sam- Please-please-please- Jesus, I need-" 

And Sam's hand was moving again, unable to stay still. He groaned. It felt incredible. Better than anything he'd experienced before. Dean so hard up against him, sending shivers across Sam's skin where they touched. Sam's cock was bigger. He wasn't sure why he cared about that right now but he did, he liked the way Dean's smaller one felt up against the hefty familiar weight of his own. And the electric feel of friction as they rubbed together- he wasn't going to last long. 

Sam leaned forward and kissed Dean again, the hand on Dean's throat tightening slightly as his other hand jerked them off together. Dean's breath came in tight quick gasps against Sam's lips, and his cock twitched against Sam's hand.

"Dean," Sam gasped, his lips trailing down to a spot behind Dean's ear. He wanted to bite, to mark Dean as his, but he settled on sucking on the mark. 

"Oh, fuck-" Dean muttered, his body shivering beneath Sam's hands. "Gonna come, Sammy-"

"Come for me," Sam managed to get out. 

Dean's cock twitched as Dean groaned, bucking into Sam's hand, loud and perfect and unravelling- Sam kept stroking himself, so close his knees quivered. He ignored Dean's over-stimulated whimpers, focusing on the feel of Dean's cock on his, on the way Dean's neck felt beneath his hand- he came suddenly, squeezing down hard on both of them, gasping, making sure that he spilled all over Dean's stomach. For a moment he was caught in the afterglow, shaking against Dean. But slowly, reality came back, and slowly, horror crept over him. He pulled away and sank to the ground, unable to even make himself look at his brother. They were sitting in a warehouse beside a still-bleeding headless body. And Sam had just taken advantage of his brother. Again. 

Dean stayed standing, tugging up his jeans. He offered Sam a hand.

"Let's go, Sam," he said. Sam took his hand and got his own pants back on.

"Dean, what we just did-"

"Nope," Dean said, taking off toward the car. Sam huffed in disbelief, reaching out and grabbing his wrist.

"We're talking about this."

"Nothing to talk about. Weird situation. Won't happen again. End of story."

"Dean," Sam said, projecting as much power as he could manage out through his eyes. Dean swallowed hard. "We're talking about this."

Sam stared him down until Dean looked away. Victory.

"Fine," Dean said, tugging his hand from Sam's grip and walking away. Sam groaned in frustration. 

"Dean!"

"We'll talk about it." Dean hopped into the front seat. Sam slipped in beside him. "We ain't doin' it sober." Sam shrugged. That was probably a good call. 

They didn't exchange more than a word or two until they got back to the motel, until they had both had a few shots of the cheap whiskey. Sam made a face as Dean passed him the bottle, but he obediently took a swig, nearly coughing up the bitter liquid as it burned down his throat. It only took him a few minutes before he felt warm and relaxed- well, if not relaxed, at least less tense. Dean sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

"So," he said, eyes still closed. "There's some weird shit going on between us. Don't think even a therapist would be surprised. With all the shit Dad's put us through? Not like we ever had a conventional relationship."

"But that doesn't give me an excuse to- I mean, Dean, I-" Sam paused, trying to arrange his words in a way that made sense past the liquor. "I _molested_ you. Twice now."

"Christ, Sammy, don't be a drama queen." Dean turned in his chair, pulling his leg across his other thigh. Sam couldn't keep his eyes away. Something about the pose... "You didn't do nothing I didn't- fuck." Dean stopped, his fingers running through his hair. Sam just wanted to be pressed against him, reassuring him, wanted to get that nervous strained look off Dean's face... he stayed where he was. "You didn't do anything I didn't want."

"I made you- I messed this up-" Dean leaned forward, his hand on Sam's knee. Sam gulped, taking another long drink from the bottle before passing it down to Dean. The alcohol, and Dean's warm familiar hand, helped. "I started all this."

"You weren't the one bringing guys back here. Not with your brother in the next bed." Dean's eyes shimmered in the light, so close to Sam's that he was tempted... he forced himself to stay where he was. "Look- it's- it's not just you, Sammy, okay? I-" Dean broke off, eyes going to the ceiling. "I- feel... feelings." Sam couldn't help himself. A nervous laugh slipped through his lips. 

"Most of us do that every day, Dean."

"Heh, screw you," Dean said. He downed another few inches of whiskey. 

"What kind of feelings?" Sam asked, feeling warm and less bothered. Dean shifted in his chair. 

"I don't know, Sam- okay? Just- things." Dean's hand retracted, grabbing at the bottle. Half of it was gone now. "Just- things I shouldn't be- you know?" Sam felt something in his heart surge. It wasn't just him, then. Unless Dean was just trying to make him feel better. But judging by the state the bottle was in... Either way. It didn't matter. Sam steeled himself. 

"We gotta make it stop," he said. Dean nodded, and for a single stupid irrational second, Sam was hurt. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ that he'd half-expected Dean to protest. Sam grabbed the bottle and poured more liquid down his throat.

"We stop it. We just don't do the shit that- you know- gets us going." Dean's face was flushed, and he stared at his fingers.

"What do I do that gets you going?" Sam asked, mouth dry. He was asking so he could stop. Honestly. That was the only reason he cared about this was to stop doing whatever it was that fucked with Dean's head... Dean finally met his eyes, and Sam saw the liquor swimming just beneath the green.

"You gotta stop- Shit, Sammy, you gotta stop _looming_. You get behind me all tall and shit. Close. You can't _do_ that." Sam frowned, nonplussed.

"You don't like that I'm bigger than you?"

"Like it too much," Dean muttered. "Always- dammit- you're always so big, pressed against me- just near me. Can't do that." Sam shook his head slowly.

"You realize I'm _bigger_ than you, right? And sometimes I have to stand close to you to-"

"I know," Dean said, scowling. "I just- don't look so- so good while you're doing it."

"I- I'll try," Sam said. He glanced at Dean's hands. All he wanted was Dean's hand on his knee again, but at this point? He could never ask for that. Not now. After everything. "What else?"

"No, no," Dean said, a hint of a grin playing at his lips. "Your turn. What do I do that turns you on?" _Everything,_ Sam thought. He cleared his throat and took another gulp of whiskey.

"When- when you bite your lip. Or at night sometimes. You grab me- I- That- that's a problem," he finished lamely. Dean nodded slowly, his frown deepening.

"We probably shouldn't be sleeping in the same bed. I mean- with what we've gotten up to already?" Sam felt his heart sink. Dean seemed to catch his expression. "We still can when dad's here. I just mean- When we're alone- we can't- we ain't- fuck." Dean grabbed the bottle and took another long drag. "We can't keep sleepin' pressed up against each other when keeping our hands to ourselves is already a problem. Right?"

"Sure," Sam said. The thought of sleeping without Dean, without his brother's warm comforting weight pressed against his back or against his stomach, begging Sam to wrap around him- it was an awful thought. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd slept alone. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't had Dean's warmth beside him. But if it made things less weird- if it made Dean hate him less- they had to do it. He had to do it. He knew that. "You're right. Two queens, sleep separate unless dad's here." 

"Right." Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair. "See, ain't it worse when you talk about it?"

"No, Dean. What if we hadn't?" Sam asked, head spinning pleasantly. "We could have ended up- you know- doing something more-" More than handjobs in a dark warehouse. Sam tried not to think too hard about that. About things he shouldn't- couldn't- want. Dean stood, and without thinking, Sam did too. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Sam felt strangely sad. Dean gave him a grin that was obviously forced.

"Separate beds starting tomorrow?" Sam nodded. He curled up against Dean, clutching Dean's body to his. He stayed up all night and didn't want to move in the morning. That was going to be a problem.


	5. Chapter 5

In the months that followed, Sam came to love the time that John was home. His resentment for his father grew, sure. But when John was home, Dean was in his bed, and more often than not they woke up curled around each other, limbs tangled, lips so close it was a miracle they didn't touch. And so what if not all of that was accidental, if sometimes Sam maneuvered Dean into his arms? He wasn't inappropriately grabbing Dean's dick or trying to kiss him. So really, progress. And Dean, Sam thought at his weakest moments, when he was in the shower jerking off, trying not to scream his own brother's name into the water, did the same. It was the habit of being near each other. The change- the no longer being allowed to sleep touching, to be close, it was hard. Necessary, probably, but hard. And when John wasn't there- when Dean slept on that other bed three feet away- it felt like he was across an ocean.

Still, life went on. They found a place and settled into a routine. Sam went to school while Dean and John hunted. He talked to his teachers- really thought about college for the first time. But he couldn't go. He couldn't leave Dean, not like that. So he pushed it off, went home and did his homework, tried not to think about the applications, the scores he might need if he decided to go that route, where he might want to go. Just as a mental exercise. Just as a way to escape. A fantasy. 

John threw a pillow at the bed one morning, startling Sam from sleep. He gently moved Dean's head off his chest and squinted as the lights flipped on. Dean groaned beside him.

"'Time's it?" Dean asked groggily, voice slurred with sleep.

"Half-past four," John said. 

"The hell we doin' awake at half-past four?" Dean asked, and Sam grinned. Of course this would be the time Dean stood up to him. Then Sam actually looked at their father. John's face was white and drawn, and he looked so worried that Sam's grin was gone in seconds.

"What happened?" he asked.

"It's Bobby. Get dressed."

"What's wrong with Bobby?"

"Don't know. Said he thought something might be watching him a few days ago. Now I get a call Bobby yellin', something growling, line goes dead. I'm goin' now. You two get this all packed up and take the Impala. Dean, you take care of that car."

"Yessir," Dean said, all the sleep gone from his voice. John rushed out, and Dean and Sam looked at each other for a moment. Then they both sprang into activity. 

Sam threw the clothes sprawled around the room into the duffle while Dean checked the guns, sliding one into his waistband and throwing a pistol on the bed in front of Sam. 

"Do you think he's okay?" Sam asked, grabbing the gun and slinging the bag over his shoulder. Dean's forehead was a mass of wrinkles and worry.

"Course he's okay. He's Bobby. Monster don't know who it's messing with." He offered Sam a strained smile. Sam didn't even try to return it. 

"How long to Sioux Falls?" Sam asked, throwing the bag into the back and climbing in beside Dean. Dean peeled out of the parking lot and the speedometer shot up to 85 in seconds. Dean glanced at it and it ticked up another five miles an hour.

"We can make it in an hour- fifty minutes." 

Sam white-knuckled his fingers together the whole way there. By the time Dean careened to a stop, his hands were shaking. He jumped out of the car, one hand on his gun, the other at his side, running toward the house. The Sierra doors were wide open, and Sam was sure John had done exactly what they were doing now. That wasn't good. He stopped, grabbing Deans arm and staring up at the house.

"Hold on. Where's Dad? This isn't good- the truck like that- We need to be careful." Dean groaned. 

"We need to help Dad. And Bobby. And we ain't-" 

"Let's go around back. We don't know what this thing is. You got salt? And iron?"

"I got everything," Dean said, an edge to his voice. "Sam-"

"Trust me." Dean sighed, eyes drifting from the house to Sam and back again.

"Okay."

They crept around the back of the house and peered through a window. Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he grabbed Dean's arm to keep him from bursting in. He didn't need to worry. Dean stayed still. Inside, Bobby and John sat tied to chairs, apparently unconscious. Standing above them, a finger on John's temple, was a creature a little smaller than Sam. It was humanoid, standing on two legs, but its body was covered in white fur. Its eyes were huge and golden, and its face looked something between a monkey's and a man's, like some strange human ancestor that had stepped out of Sam's biology textbooks. Dean inhaled sharply beside him.

"That's a satori," he said. Sam frowned.

"How do you know-"

"Dad and Bobby hunted one. Maybe ten years back. No clue what this one's doing out here. They stick to the mountains. Most of em don't bug people unless they're provoked." Sam paused, impressed.

"How do you remember- nevermind. How do we kill it?"

"Hard as hell. Fucker can read minds. Gotta touch you to do it, though. Lore said loud noises can weaken 'em, but Dad never said what worked last time. I will say most a the things we deal with don't do so well with their heads chopped off" They watched the creature as it stroked John's face, humming to itself. "It might already know we're here. I dunno how it works."

"So we can't come up with the same plan," Sam said. "Or it will know what it is." He nodded to himself.

"Going in. Cover me." 

Dean hissed something at him, but Sam didn't listen. He kicked the back door in and fired his pistol in the air. The thing whirled to face him, eyes half the size of its face. John and Bobby sat listless, heads lolling and eyes closed, thick rope wrapped around their wrists, ankles, and waists. Sam fired the gun again, but the thing didn't flinch.

"Son of a bitch. So much for sound," Dean muttered from behind him, sarcasm rough in his voice. "Maybe trying shooting at _it_?" Sam lowered the weapon at the thing's chest, but it raised its white furry arms, studying him curiously. 

"I do not wish to fight you," it said in a strangely lilting accented voice. "You have done nothing to me." Sam leveled the pistol at its chest and fired. Nothing happened. The satori looked down, then looked at Sam, a faint smile on its face. It reached forward before Sam could stop it and touched his hand. Sam sank to his knees, feeling the strangest feeling he'd ever felt. It was like the creature was rifling through his mind, flipping through thoughts like pages in a book. It let go, and Sam was aware of Dean shouting something beside him. The satori peered from one to the other.

"Interesting. You don't want to fight either. Maybe this fight you do. But not many of the others."

"I fight when I have to," Sam said grimly, stepping toward the creature, but the air had grown heavy, and moving was slow and hard. Dean strained beside him.

"You hate your father almost as much as you care for him. Let me finish this, and we will both be free."

"Why?" Sam managed to get out. Dean fumbled beside him, and Sam desperately tried to keep the satori's eyes on him. "Why do you want to kill him?"

"He killed the love of my life," the satori said, strange face betraying the first sign of emotion. "What would you do, Sam, if I killed someone you were madly in love with? Dean, for example." Sam's heart went cold, and he glanced at Dean, who still searched for something, his hand freezing just for a moment in midair. 

"We're brothers," he said, voice weak, throat dry. "You, you do know we're brothers-" God, he sounded so desperate. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. The danger of the situation seemed to fade to the background as he was forced to see what he'd been avoiding for months- years- "Right?" he added in barely above a whisper. The satori nodded.

"And yet..."

"It's not true," Sam said, more to Dean than to the creature. His voice sounded so small he wasn't even sure if he'd spoken out loud.

"And yet." The creature gave him a knowing look. Dean's hand moved in slow motion beside Sam, and liquid splashed all over the satori. It frowned, and suddenly Sam could move normally again.

"Duck, Sammy," Dean yelled, and Sam ducked. A match flew above Sam's head, hitting the creature's fur. It shrieked as the lighter fluid caught, igniting the fine white hair and sending the whole satori into a burst of flames. Sam watched, mouth hanging open. "Sam!" Dean barked. "Dad!" Sam snapped out of it and ran to his father's side, watching Dean slice through Bobby's bonds. 

"Son of a _bitch,_ " Dean swore again, his fingers at Bobby's pulse. 

"Dad's alive. Just knocked out," Sam called, heaving with relief. "Bobby?"

"Same. Fucker's got to have some sort of poison- hopefully a sedative. We should get them to a hospital. Just in case."

"Okay, you drive and I'll sit in back with-"

"Stay here, Sam." Sam's heart sank and Dean gave him a strained glance. "Research. We needa make sure whatever venom it got in em'll wear off. Make sure they'll be good just in the hospital. Right?" Sam nodded reluctantly.

"Right. But Dean-"

"Just help me get em to the car." Sam did, and Dean gave him a strange searching glance. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "What that thing said? Don't mean a damn thing. He was trying to rattle us. Alright? I know that. Don't worry. Just- just find out more about these things. Make sure Bobby and Dad'll be okay."

"Yeah," Sam said hollowly. Dean gave him a last long look, then hopped in the Impala. Sam watched him drive away. He did his quick research, just to make sure everything would be okay with his dad and Bobby. Then he poured a tall glass of Bobby's whiskey. 

He sat on the porch, more chugging than sipping. He was in love with Dean. He was in love with his own goddamn brother, and it was all his own goddamn fault. How had he let this happen? How hadn't he seen it before? What the hell was wrong with him? He had another drink of whiskey, feeling familiar warmth in his chest. He felt sick. His chest was tight and just breathing took more work than he was used to. He was in love with Dean. With someone he could never have, not in a million years. With someone he definitely shouldn't want to have. He polished off the glass and stood to get another. The world moved around him, but he made it into the kitchen, managed to pour himself another drink. He was halfway through it when Dean got home, sniffing the room and wrinkling his nose.

"Jesus, Sammy. Smells like a Tennessee whorehouse in here." Sam knew he couldn't open his mouth. If he did, he'd start saying stupid shit. He watched Dean's eyes hit the glass in his hand. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sam said, wincing when he managed to slur the one-syllable word. "'M okay." Dean lifted the glass from his hand and set it down, guiding Sam by the elbow. Dean sat him down on the bed, sitting beside him. 

"Dad and Bobby are gonna be fine. They're keeping 'em overnight just in case. But they're gonna be okay."

"Good," Sam managed. Tears rose to his eyes before he could stop them, and a few fell down his cheeks. Dean's hand on his arm grew tighter.

"Sammy. C'mon, talk to me. What happened? What's wrong?" 

Sam just sat. He couldn't start talking. If he started talking, he'd tell Dean everything and Dean- Dean could never find out just how fucked up he was. So he just cried- for himself, for the whole damn situation... because he knew what he had to do now. He had to leave. He had to get far away from Dean, had to keep Dean from ever having to know- even ever having to suspect- just how much of a freak Sam was. He had to leave for good. Dean maneuvered him under the covers laying down, and to Sam's surprise slipped into bed with him. When Dean reached out and wrapped around him, Sam didn't have the strength to stop him. Not tonight. Not when this could be the last time he had Dean close to him, wanting to touch him, not looking at him with the sort of disgust that he would, certainly, have if he ever found out. So he huddled close and held Dean until the liquor pulled him under.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean ambushed him the next morning, much to Sam's surprise. 

"So," Dean said, swivelling his chair dramatically and taking in Sam in all his hung-over glory. "You gonna tell me what last night was about or am I gonna have to start guessing?"

"Guess away," Sam said, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in a gulp. He glanced at it, brain trying to process, then put it under the tap again. 

"Bears lost. Remember when you went through that phase of trying to care about football for- what was her name-?"

"Allison," Sam said, grinning despite himself.

"Right, _Allison_. And we were outside Chicago, so of course-"

"Da Bears."

"So I thought- hey, maybe Sam's got some latent Bears feelings rattling around in that head of his."

"Yep, you caught me. I'm devastated about the Bears," he said, trying to put as much emotion into the sentence as he could. Dean grinned back at him.

"Or then- I was like, Sam almost lost his virginity in South Dakota. Maybe he's just mourning missed opportunities." Sam frowned.

"I did not almost lose my virginity here. What are you-"

"That- that Kathy chick." Sam snorted. 

"Dude, I didn't almost lose my virginity to Kathy. She was like _gay_ gay. No wiggle room gay. Gayer than you." Dean raised an eyebrow.

"'M not gay, Sammy. Bisexuality's a thing. Ya bigot. Hole's a hole, far as I'm concerned." 

"Or in your case- phallus is a phallus? Real or not?" Dean flipped him off as Sam let out an almost laugh.

"Yeah. Shuddup. Bitch."

"Jerk." And things returned to the normal rhythm. Almost.

They settled for a while for Sam to finish his senior year. He put out a few applications. If he didn't get in, he would leave anyway. Go off and do something else. Because if he stayed, if he let himself get too close to Dean, he could tear apart Dean's whole life. And he wouldn't do that. So he drew back, didn't give away as much as he usually did to Dean about what he was thinking, feeling. Because if he let his guard down, he'd give away too much.

Dean changed too, though Sam couldn't put his finger on why. He stopped bringing people home, but he also didn't go out as much. Or when he did, he stumbled home drunk early, like he'd clearly been alone. He touched Sam more- just little touches, innocent, grabbing his hand to drag him away from diner tables, falling asleep on him while they watched TV on the couch, pushing Sam's hair out of his face and threatening to cut it all off. And sometimes Sam caught Dean looking at him frowning, the way he frowned when he was trying to work through a hunt that didn't make sense. 

But Sam forgot all about Dean's strange behavior when he got the Stanford acceptance letter a few months after he applied. At first, he thought it must be some sort of joke. Thought maybe John or Dean had found out and were playing some cruel trick on him. But he called. It was real. He sent a letter back the next day, intent to attend or whatever the fancy words for that were. John was gone. Dean noticed his good mood and needled him for answers, but Sam kept them to himself.

"So. Sammy," Dean said one day after John had been on at least a two-week bender. Or hunt. Sam didn't even try to keep track anymore. "We're going out tonight." Sam snorted. 

"Dean. I've got two essays due Monday and a biology test. I'm not going anywhere." 

"I know for a fact that you finished both of those yesterday. And biology?" Dean snorted. "You can do that crap in your sleep. Get dressed. We're going."

"I'm not going," Sam said stubbornly. Spending alone time with Dean. Out in public. Out doing things. Out drinking, lowering his inhibitions- Tiny Minnesota towns didn't exactly care about underage drinkers. That was exactly the type of thing he needed to avoid at all costs. 

"Please?" Dean wheedled, his green eyes huge and pleading, something genuine behind the sarcasm. "C'mon. When was the last time you had any fun?"

"Just because my kind of fun isn't your kind of fun-"

"Oh, I think it's exactly my kind of fun," Dean said, pupils dilating. Sam felt a spark of desire and tried to push it away. It sat in his chest, heavy and immovable. _That wasn't what Dean meant_ , he told himself. "Tell you what." He pulled out a coin. "Heads you come, tails you stay."

"Dean-"

"Please, Sam." There it was again- sincerity, and something more than that- a hint of desperation. Sam frowned, searching Dean's face for answers.

"Why-" he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Fine. Heads I go. Tails you leave me alone." Dean gave him a wicked grin and flipped the coin. Before Dean even showed him, Sam knew what the result would be. "Your two-headed quarter?"

"Hey, whatever Harvey Dent's flaws were, guy hada cool trick. Your choice. Club or bar?"

"Bar. Definitely bar." 

They sat in a little booth, side by side. Sam sat down first, and Dean moved easily beside him. Sam wasn't sure how many more chances he'd have to have Dean this close, so he didn't comment. He didn't even breathe too hard. Nothing that would scare Dean away. He just sipped at his beer and half-listened to Dean talk about sirens. 

"You know, for hating on me all the time for being a geek. You're kind of a geek," Sam said, unable to keep a slow smile off his face. Dean scoffed.

"Hey. Knowing stuff about sexy beautiful women that can _kill_ you isn't geeky." Dean wagged a finger in his face. "It's smart. You're the geek, I'm the cute one. Stick to the dynamic."

"Think you're the cute one?"

Dean raked his eyes over Sam's body, and Sam felt his heart do that impossible lurch, the kind he tried so hard to stop from doing around Dean these days. When Dean looked at him like that, it was almost like- Sam quashed the thought. Too painful to finish it.

"Alright, you're the cute geek, I'm the cute dumb one. Don't you take that from me." Dean was anything but dumb, as much as he might try to pretend otherwise. But Sam forced a grin to his face.

"Oh, believe me. I wouldn't dare." Dean shifted. 

"Gonna grab us another round." Sam watched him carefully. Something was up. Dean wasn't his normal confident self. He was nervous. He was shifty, giving Sam weird looks all night. 

When Dean got back to the table, he pushed a beer to Sam, and stared straight ahead, lips opening and closing a few times before he finally spoke.

"You're applying to college." Sam's heart sank.

"How did you-"

"C'mon, Sam, you're not sneaky. Saw you filling out the applications behind your textbooks. I mean- why didn't you tell me?" That edge of desperation- it was sharper now. Sam felt it like a blade against his throat.

"I- I _couldn't_ tell you." Dean nodded to himself, lips pursed.

"So you- what, you were just gonna run off to college without even talking to me about it? Why? What kind of a move is that?"

"I-I couldn't- I was going to tell you before I left-"

"What, you were gonna tell me at the same time as dad? That's all I mean to you? Just another family member to escape from?" Dean's eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, and Sam could feel the anger radiating from him. Minutes ago, Dean's presence beside him had been comforting. Now Sam felt boxed in.

"It's not like that," he said, shocked at how even his voice was.

"No? Because it sure as hell feels like that."

"I knew if I told you you'd try to stop me."

"You're goddamn right I'd try to stop you," Dean said, tapping a rapid beat on the table. "You can't just walk away like that. From hunting- from me-" 

"I have to."

"Why?" Dean asked, his eyes wider than Sam had ever seen them. They looked watery, huge. Sam downed half his beer in one gulp.

"You don't want to know-" 

Dean let out a humorless snort.

"I _have_ to know." 

"I-" Sam finished his beer, mostly trying to buy time, to think of a lie. He settled on something as close to the truth as he dared. "I'm afraid- what I did to you before- I would do it again. I can't do that to you, Dean- I- after the first time-" Dean's face grew dark, unreadable.

"You think you did that? Think it was your fault?"

"It _was_ my-" Dean's lips crashed into his and he forgot the end of his sentence. 

Sam was so startled that for a long moment he stayed perfectly still. Then something deep within his chest roared and he was kissing Dean back, one hand tangling in his hair, the other wrapping around his waist. He couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop it. The gravity of Dean- of Dean pretending to want him, pressed up against him, kissing him, surrendering as Sam slipped his tongue between Dean's lips... Sam couldn't resist it. No one could resist it. He tugged Dean as close as the cramped booth allowed, letting himself forget, letting himself drift into the moment. Dean pulled back first.

"Let's go," he said. Sam followed. He thought in that moment he would have gone anywhere Dean asked him to. Down to the darkest pits of Hell and back, to Detroit, to a Styx concert- anywhere. But Dean just took them back to the motel. They didn't talk. Didn't need to. Sam led the way inside. Dean followed. Door shut. Lock latched. Green eyes locked on his, waiting. Sam didn't think- couldn't think. This was the last time. It didn't matter. So he pushed Dean up against the wall and kissed him hard, biting his bottom lip, forcing his tongue inside Dean's mouth. 

Dean went right along with it. Part of Sam knew he should feel guilty. Dean was only doing this because he wanted Sam to stay. There was no other explanation. He wanted Sam to feel like less of a freak, wanted to prove Sam wasn't the only freak. And Sam was taking advantage of it. But with Dean loose and submissive against him, kissing him like he wanted it, pretending for Sam's sake- Sam couldn't do a goddamn thing but kiss him back, but hold him against the wall, his hands on Dean's wrists, pressing back into the cheap stucco, feeling the warm press of Dean's body up against his. Dean broke the kiss.

"God, Sammy, I missed this," his brother lied, but it sounded so real that just for a moment, Sam let himself believe.

"Gonna miss you, Dean," he said, all truth, pressing his chest against Dean's and feeling just how much smaller his brother was. He let go of Dean's wrists, wrapping an arm around Dean's waist, crushing his brother to him. He buried his chin in the crook of Dean's shoulder, just breathing in Dean, just feeling him, trying to remember every single detail, every flaw, every perfect part of him. He stayed there for a long moment, just feeling Dean against him, just trying to commit his every inch to memory. Then Dean moved, and his lips were suddenly on Sam's again, hot and desperate, needy- and Dean was moaning beneath him, grabbing at Sam's hips, trying to pull him close-

"Sammy," Dean gasped, tugging away once more. "Need you- Need to feel you-"

"How?" Sam whispered, breathless. "What do you want?"

"Need to feel you. In me." Sam's cock loved the idea, hardening entirely up against Dean, but Sam's mind- 

"Dean- I- I can't-"

"Just fingers- C'mon. Please." It was the please that did it. Sam grabbed Dean and carried him to the bed, practically throwing him down on it, ripping his shirt off in an easy motion. The fabric tore at the top, but Dean didn't seem to care. His fingers traced Dean's chest. He knew every scar, every inch of skin, as intimately as he knew his own. But he'd never get tired of looking at the map of skin, of the constant bruises, of the way Dean's breath hitched as Sam ran his hand down over his ribcage, over the soft skin of his stomach. He loomed over his brother, taking in the soft pink of his cheeks, the unabashed lust on Dean's face, the way his chest rose and fell, faster than usual. Sam was so hard he thought he could come just from touching Dean like this. He made himself pause.

"Are you sure-"

"Shut the fuck up and take my pants off," Dean said, voice strangely intense. Sam huffed out half a laugh, then sprang forward, grabbing Dean's wrists and holding them to the bed on either side of his hips. Dean struggled for a moment, probably out of habit, then went still, lips parting as he stared up at Sam. 

"You don't give the orders here, Dean," Sam said, keeping his voice low and even. Dean swallowed hard. "You'll take what I give you and you'll be grateful for it." 

Dean nodded slowly, exposing his throat. Sam didn't think. He just let himself do what he wanted to do, lips pressing down hard on Dean's throat, sucking a mark- he knew he'd leave a mark, feeling the soft give of his skin. His lips travelled down until they met the place where Dean's shoulder met his neck. Then he bit into the soft flesh, drawing out a yelp and a curse from Dean, who twitched beneath him. Sam drew back, feral grin on his face. Only then did he let his hand slip lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Dean's jeans and finding Dean's hard cock. Dean groaned and Sam groaned with him, giving it an experimental squeeze. Dean shivered.

"Please, Sam," Dean said, his eyes wide, shining in the dim light of hotel lamps. "Please-" Sam just wanted to hear him say that while he came, his arms held above him, clothes off, eyes wild and desperate-

"Not so hard to ask nicely, is it?" Sam asked, voice half-growl as he ripped Dean's pants down, throwing them to the ground. Dean grumbled, about to speak, but Sam quieted him with a look.

"Lube. Now." Dean jumped off the bed and rifled through his backpack. Of course he'd have it close. Sam wanted to tie him up, wanted to pin him down and taste every part of him, wanted to reduce Dean to a whimpering mess, have him begging for Sam's cock- to fuck him for hours- but this was what they had. So he'd lose himself in it. "Get on your back." 

Dean followed orders, eyes wide, cock throbbing. Sam's hand wrapped around it and Dean groaned, thrusting into his hand almost involuntarily. Sam took off his own clothes, then climbed on top of Dean, pinning his hands above his head roughly with one hand. Dean was going to come like that. He poured a few drops of lube onto his fingers as he kissed down Dean's neck again, grinning as he felt goosebumps pop up. He poured lube over his cock too, and Dean's. Better that way, his addled brain told him. Dean strained against where Sam held him as if just to prove that he could, to prove that Sam could hold him back easily. Sam let him, fingers trailing over Dean's cock before dropping lower. Sam took in a long shaky breath. He'd been dreaming about this- wanting this for so long- and the reality was better. Sam rubbed along Dean's entrance, letting his cock press against Dean's in a way that made them both exhale sharply. 

"Please move- please, Sammy- God, I need you-" Sam pressed his lips to Dean's neck, and pushed his finger inside. Dean groaned, struggling against him, rutting into Sam's hand, pressing their cocks up against each other. 

"You're so tight," Sam said, wondering. The feel of Dean, of being inside him, even if it wasn't the way he wanted- it was incredible. All tight heat, welcoming Sam in, Dean just letting him do it... Sam moved it in and out experimentally, stretching him. He added another finger and Dean moaned sharply as Sam curled his fingers upward, searching until he found the spot that made Dean go boneless, the one that dragged soft gasps and moans from Dean's mouth. "Fuck," he murmured. 

Then he started moving, rutting up against Dean in time with the thrusting of his fingers. The friction of Dean's stomach, of his hard cock, made it feel incredible. With the tight heat around his fingers, he could almost pretend that he was fucking Dean- really fucking him. His lips found Deans, and he could taste each desperate sound that slipped from Dean's tongue onto his as he rocked, losing himself in the feeling of it, the feel of his brother beneath him- it didn't take long to bring Sam right to the brink. Only sheer force of will was enough to keep him from coming. Dean tugged his mouth away, whimpering

"Sammy- want you to fuck me- so close- please-"

"You gonna come for me, Dean?" Sam asked, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips and his fingers. "Gonna come for me like this?"

"Yes- want to feel you come, Sammy, all over me- fuck-" That was enough to send Sam over the edge. He came with a groan, hand tightening around Dean's wrists, his cock spurting all over Dean's stomach. Dean practically screamed, tightening around Sam's fingers. Sam rocked onto him, tugging them both through waves of pleasure and out to the other side. His body felt warm, pliant. They were both a mess of bodily fluids, lube, and sweat, but Sam didn't care. He tugged Dean into his arms and tucked his chin in the crook of Dean's shoulder. For a long few moments, they were silent. Then Dean spoke, just one word.

"Stay." His voice was soft, that desperate edge back, tinged with resignation too. 

Who knew one syllable could break someone's heart? Sam couldn't speak. He just clutched Dean close to him, and they both knew. Later, Sam wouldn't remember the words he screamed at his father or the ones John yelled back at him. He wouldn't remember the last things he said in panicked rage to Dean before grabbing his backpack and heading for the nearest bus. But for the rest of his life, he would remember the feel of Dean, the soft hiss of his breath, and that one word. He left a week after his high school graduation.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam spent the first week of summer alone in a hotel room drunk, hating himself. The first day he got bottom shelf whiskey and sat in the dark, too upset to do more than sleep and drink. All he could see was Dean's face, so hurt and betrayed, as Sam had walked out the door. All he could do was take sips of whiskey until his stomach wouldn't let him drink anymore. All he could tell himself, over and over like a mantra, was that this was better for Dean. This was so much better for Dean in the long run. What would it be like for him to know that his younger brother was utterly and desperately in love with him? Dean being the type of person that he was- what if he had gone along with it just to make Sam happy? Sam shuddered just thinking about it. His pure existence would be enough to make Dean's life hell, just to make Sam's easier... It was much much better that he was gone. That he didn't expose Dean to that. Didn't make him feel obligated to-

He had to take a few more long gulps from the bottle before he even finished his thought. Self-loathing filled him, burning worse than the liquor. He'd already taken advantage of Dean's willingness to do anything to make him happy. He'd done it again and again, practically forcing himself on his brother. Dean, who went without food sometimes to make sure Sam wasn't hungry. Dean who learned how to pickpocket to make sure he wouldn't worry about Sam starving. Dean who had protected Sam from everything, who had given up everything to give Sam a better life, who had never asked for a damn thing in return. Was it really so crazy that Sam would fall in love with somebody like that? No. But acting on it- forcing Dean to do what he'd done- that was where Sam had screwed everything up. He fell asleep without remembering when, whiskey bottle tipped over and spilling onto the cheap carpet beside him.

The next day, Sam threw up twice, his heart aching worse than his head. Claws clutched his heart, occasionally squeezing, sending anxiety and regret rocketing through him. There was one thing John had taught him, and that was that alcohol made the claws let go, at least for a little while. He stumbled to the liquor store and got in a few minutes after it opened and selected a few cheap bottles of wine. He couldn't do hard liquor right now. He knew that much. The clerk looked him up and down, frowning. 

"You okay, kid? You don't look old enough to be drinking- specially not at ten in the morning." Sam forced a smile to his face.

"Rough road trip." He handed over his best fake ID, not worried. Dean- a spike of pain hit him even at _thinking_ Dean's name- was always so good about making them... The clerk gave him another searching glance.

"You need any help?"

"Just the wine, thanks," Sam said, reaching for the bottles. The guy held on to them for a fraction too long, and Sam was worried, just for a second, that he wouldn't hand them over. He let go, eyes still locked on Sam's eyes.

"You let me know if you need anything, alright?" Sam nodded and bolted. He hated the guys like that- do-gooders with too kind of eyes. Liquor store employees, he thought, should be of the cutthroat variety, willing to sell to anyone, willing to watch men die slowly by poisoning their livers. Not the type of guys who gave you worried looks and wanted to call your dad. 

Sam holed back up in his hotel room, sipping straight from the bottle. The liquor made him feel a little better. It didn't change things. Not really. But it gave him some distance. When he was halfway through the first bottle, his phone buzzed. He saw the name, and took a deep breath. He answered because there was nothing else he could do.

"Dean," he said. Someone's breath hitched on the other line.

"Sam. You okay?" Sam stared into the half-empty bottle and laughed. The sound came out bitter and choked. "I mean- do you need money? Anything? Something to get you to Cali?" Sam felt a few tears slip out of his eyes. Of course that was what Dean was worried about. Of course he was more concerned with Sam than himself, or anything else. He didn't even sound mad. Not really.

"'M okay," he lied. "Scholarship money came through." Of course it hadn't. It wouldn't, not until fall. But he knew his way around credit card fraud, living around John and Dean as long as he had. And Dean would never know the difference. There was a long awkward pause on the other line. Sam knew he should say something. There was nothing to say. 

"Okay," Dean said in his fake cheery voice. It was like he thought Sam wouldn't recognize it. How couldn't he? He'd been hearing that voice since before he could remember. "You'll let me know if you need help, right? Anything. I'll be here." Sam felt something well up in his chest, and more tears (his story was a single man-tear, and he would stick to it if anyone ever asked) slipped down his cheeks. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah- thanks, Dean. I know."

"Good. Good." Another long silence. "Take care, Sammy."

"You too." The line clicked. Sam finished the bottle.

The third day was tequila. The fourth he spent mostly sober, sucking on beer bottles when he could stomach it, throwing up and sleeping fitfully when he couldn't. He cursed tequila bitterly, swearing it off. The fifth he was back on whiskey. Whiskey, good old whiskey, was safe. It was hard to drink to the point of sickness with whiskey just by its nature. It begged to be sipped, not chugged. He saved the bottle and finished it on the sixth. On the seventh day, he rested. 

When he finally came out of the bender, finally had his head on straight enough to get through the long days sober (or mostly so), he boarded the bus again because he didn't know what else to do. He headed toward California, stopping in small towns along the way, trying to keep his head straight. Trying to keep Dean off his mind. He never succeeded, not really. But he got better and better at pretending. 

By the time school started, he was mostly sober, and he'd locked Dean away in a special dark corner of his heart. A place that would never leave him, but one he could isolate, move on from. And mostly he did. He made friends, went out, ignored the unhealed wound at the center of his heart. He even found a girl- not that he would ever let her become a girlfriend. How could he? She could never compare to- well. Of course she couldn't compare. He hadn't even slept with her. But she was a distraction and Sam was happy enough. Until Dean started calling, a few months into the semester. 

Sam wasn't expecting the first call. He was out with Jessica and some of the others at some restaurant downtown. Jess was laughing at his stupid joke, twirling a piece of blonde hair between her fingers. His phone buzzed, and his heart stopped when he saw the name. 

"Just a second," he said to his friends. He stepped away, moved toward outside, and answered the second he was safely on the other side of the glass doors. "Hello?" he asked, half expecting some awful supernatural creature to be on the other line. 

"Hey, Sam" Dean said cheerfully. Sam gulped.

"Dean- is everything okay?"

"Yeah. We're all good over here. Just wanted to check in. Haven't heard from ya. Which- ya know. It's fine. But in our line of work-"

"I-I'm okay," Sam said, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. Just hearing Dean's voice on the other end of the line brought everything rushing back, and he found himself sinking to the sidewalk. "I'm good. Started classes. You- are you and dad- you're okay?"

"Yeah." There was a beat of silence. "Brought down a few werewolves last week. Pretty easy stuff."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked. His heart was racing. The conversation didn't matter. Neither of them had said anything real. But even something shallow- even this- it was just good to hear Dean's voice. "How many?"

"Four. Had to call Bobby in. He says hi, by the way. And to tell ya you're an 'idjit,' but- you already know that." Sam grinned what he thought was his first genuine grin in months.

"How is Bobby?"

"He's good. He-" 

And Dean kept talking, giving Sam just little snippets of his life, little pictures of the world Sam had left. There was an awkwardness between them. Of course there was. After what Sam had done, he hadn't expected to ever talk to Dean- really talk to him- again. So he clung to every single word, drinking in the sound of Dean's voice. When Dean finally stopped his monologue, he gave one of his little awkward chuckles.

"Glad you're okay. Take care, Sam." No 'Sammy.' Sam shouldn't even want a 'Sammy.' He hated it when other people called him Sammy, but with Dean- with Dean it was who he was. And Dean calling him Sam meant his brother was pissed. Still. He had called.

"You too, Dean. Be safe." The line clicked. Sam sat against the wall for another ten minutes before he could pull himself together enough to go back inside. 

It was another two months before Dean called again, after finals were over, in the middle of Sam spending Christmas alone in an empty apartment, his roommates all with their families. He glanced at the screen when his phone buzzed and nearly dropped it in his haste to answer.

"Hello?" he asked, his voice breathless and too eager- way too eager. 

"Hiya, Sam," Dean said. At the sound of his voice, Sam felt himself relax, tension seeping out of him that he'd been holding since last time they talked.

"Hi, Dean."

"You get the package I sent?" Sam felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

"You sent me something?"

"Nothing big. Just found some good fudge in Estes Park and thought you might like some. Y'know, considering what a big fudge-packer you are." Sam snorted despite himself.

"You're one to talk." This was a segway to talk about the girls he'd met up here. A segway to talk about Jess, who he still hadn't even kissed. The one person aside from Dean he felt like he _wanted_ to kiss most of the time. But how could he say anything about that? Dean was his. Even this shallow little piece of him. Sam wasn't going to muddy that by bringing in anything from his real life. "You were in Colorado?"

"Few days. Had a case up in the mountains. Let me tell ya, Sammy, I never want to see that much snow in one place again."

"What'd you hunt? A yeti?"

"Something like that. How's school?"

"It's... good. How's hunting?"

"Same." Silence filled the line. All Sam wanted to do was fill it. But distance. He owed Dean distance. So he stayed quiet. "You good?"

"Good."

"Awesome. Take care of yourself."

"You too." And that was that.

After that, Dean called every couple of months. Sometimes he sent small things. Sam took everything he could, but he never called first. He knew if he did, he'd spill everything, beg to come back, beg Dean to leave and come stay with him. So he let the distance grow. Still, Dean always called. There wasn't a regular schedule, but Sam would feel it when it had been too long, would know another call would come soon. And it always did. It was a thread connecting them, just a thread, but a thread spun out of gold. And Sam felt more alive during his shallow conversations with Dean than he did during any other part of his life.

A year passed. Dean didn't offer to visit. Sam didn't beg him to. Phone calls still came like clockwork, along with random packages a few times a year, full of food or interesting gadgets or books, things Dean knew he would like. Sam kept all of them locked away in his go bag, hidden deep a trunk at the end of his bed. Halfway through his sophomore year, he started dating Jessica. She loved him, and sometimes that made Sam feel dark and guilty, knowing that he'd never feel the same way. But he liked her, liked that she fit partway into the jagged absence of Dean. So things progressed. After a year, they moved in together. 

Sam didn't mention her to Dean. How could he? Neither of them said anything real. Sam just wanted to hear Dean's voice. Dean probably just wanted to make sure he was still alive. So life went on. Sam took the LSAT. He went out with his friends. He tried to be normal, tried to forget Dean. And he was doing an okay job. Until one night he woke to find Dean had broken in, standing in his living room like he owned the place, a carefree grin on his face. Sam's mouth dropped open and he felt like he'd been stabbed. 

"Heya, Sammy." Sam felt every letter hit his heart, and as he looked into Dean's guarded green eyes, every wound ripped back open, leaving him vulnerable, unable to do a thing but stare. After years- Sam had thought he remembered what it felt like. He had been wrong. Warmth rushed up in his chest. It felt like he'd been reading in a room at sunset, not realizing how dim it was getting, and someone had reached in and turned on the light. Dean's smile fell, and something in his eyes drew Sam in, made him forget that Jessica was right behind him. His lips twitched up, then down, back up again out of his control. Everything in his life was about to change again. He felt it. He tried to care. But all he could see was Dean, all he could feel was everything he'd tried not to, rushing back and clouding his mind in pure giddy delight at seeing his brother in front of him once more.

"Hey, Dean."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean looked older. A few worry lines on his face, and shadows under his eyes Sam didn't remember seeing there. His mouth set back into a straight hard line after his forced grin. And his eyes- they were guarded in a way they'd never been around Sam. Still- the flesh of Dean stepping into the pale shadow of him Sam had kept in his mind all these years- he looked impossibly perfect in the moonlight. 

Sam barely exchanged a sentence with Jess, barely offered her anything like an explanation before following Dean out into the night. He didn't want to talk to Dean quietly in the house where Jess would be a part of it, trying to eavesdrop, or even just present. So he led the way to the Impala, sinking into the familiar seat beside Dean. He stared at his brother's face. Dean stared straight ahead.

"I wouldn't have come if I didn't need your help," Dean said finally, hands gripping the steering wheel, shining white in the darkness. Sam swallowed. He felt warm and lost and breathless. 

"What- what happened?" he managed to choke out. Dean exhaled in a long gust. 

"Dad took off- few months ago. He's going after the thing that took mom. Won't tell me what he's doing- where he is-"

"You want help finding him?" Dean gave him a shadow of a grin.

"No. He don't want to be found? I won't try to find him." Sam huffed.

"You haven't changed."

"You have. Live-in girlfriend, huh, Sammy? Attaboy." Sam barely caught it, the barely perceptive tightening in Dean's jaw. Dean probably hated him for it, hated that he abandoned the hunting life to go off and have something normal. He was pissed. Sam shrank in his seat.

"Yeah-"

"Pretty too."

"Yeah, she's- she's pretty. Dean- why are you here?" Sam asked again. Dean flinched and he wished he'd chosen less harsh words. For a second he wanted to follow the first sentence up with something like _Because I've never been happier to see you in my life. Because I can't believe it's really you sitting next to me right now. Because I was never going to let myself see you again._ He bit the words down. Distance. Distance was best for Dean. He couldn't let things get twisted.

"There's something taking kids in Milpitas. I went over to check it out- Looks like a wraith. Thought I might be able to take it out on my own, but it's got a buddy."

"Wraiths hunt alone," Sam said, frowning. 

"I know. That's what's got me. That's why I need backup. And I'd wait, but- It's got six kids, Sam, so far. _Kids_. And you were close, so I thought- Look, help me take care of this and I won't bug ya again. I know you've got your own thing going up here. I don't want to wreck it. But will you help me? Just this once?" Sam nodded frantically.

"Of course- yeah. Let me just tell Jess I'm leaving- grab my go bag-" Dean cracked a real smile for the first time.

"You got a go bag?" Sam couldn't help but smile back.

"Course I have a go bag. Think you can be raised by guys like dad and Bobby and not have a go bag?" Dean shook his head.

"Well hurry up, Sammy. Wraiths ain't gonna wait on us to find another kid to steal." 

Sam hurried back into the house to find Jess waiting, eyes watery and huge, arms crossed over her stomach. 

"What's going on?" she asked. Sam bit his lip.

"I have to leave for a few days. My brother needs a favor. He-"

"That's not your brother," Jess said, her voice resigned. "I saw the way you looked at him. You've never looked at me like that."

"He's my brother. I swear. Look, I have to go. I-"

"Sam." Her pretty face was drawn, eyes defeated and knowing. "You're not coming back." _I have to_ , Sam thought. _Have to keep Dean safe from me._ He met her gaze evenly.

"Jess-"

"You're not coming back. You're going to leave with him. Even if you don't know it yet."

"I promise you I'm not," Sam said, trying to banish the daggers stabbing at him at the thought of leaving Dean again, now just after he'd gotten him back for a few brief moments. "I'll be back. I've got classes- you-" Jessica let out a humorless laugh. 

"You're not coming back," she repeated. "You wasted over a year of my life, Sam. You knew this wouldn't work. That guy- whoever he really is- You've just been waiting for him to come back."

"That's- that's not true- What, you're getting all of that from a _look_?" 

"Just go. I'll leave your stuff with Brady." Sam stared at her, wishing he was upset, wishing he cared that his girlfriend of over a year was breaking up with him. All he felt was guilt and relief. She seemed to catch it, and as she turned away, Sam saw her eyes glistening with tears. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Go," she spat. 

Sam went, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He'd be back at Stanford because he had nowhere else to go. But as he glanced around the place he'd almost managed to turn into a home, he realized Jess was right. She'd seen him look at Dean, known more in a second about Sam than he ever would have told her. There was no going back to her after that. She wouldn't want him. Not when she knew she was a distant second. It wasn't fair, what he'd done to her. He knew that. He wouldn't do it again. He'd live alone. Be alone forever. That's what he deserved. Because no one would ever compare to Dean, and he couldn't pretend again. He spared her back a last look, loathing himself for stringing her along. Then he left, locking the door behind himself. 

"You were in there a long time, Sammy. You get some goodbye boning in?" Dean asked, wriggling his eyebrows. Sam rolled his eyes, buckling himself in. 

"Just drive, Dean," Sam said. Dean seemed to catch his expression and didn't push it. Baby wheeled off into the night, and Sam tried not to think too hard. They were driving for a good ten minutes before Sam broke the silence. 

"That's new," he said, reaching out and touching the jagged scar on Dean's arm. He half-expected Dean to flinch or try to hit him on reflex, but Dean moved his arm toward Sam, into the moonlight so Sam could examine it better. Sam's fingers traced over it, and he tried to ignore the hitch of his breath and the trip of his heart. This was normal. Just a brotherly touch- a new scar. For them, that was the same as a new tattoo. 

"Werewolf in Spokane. Dad must've poured Jack over it for twenty minutes to make sure I wouldn't turn."

"That's not how it works." Dean snorted. 

"Course it isn't. Guy's a paranoid bastard. You've read the user manual." Sam's fingers tightened.

"That asshole," he muttered. Dean shot him a side-ways glance. 

"He was just lookin' out for me." They lapsed back into silence, and Sam reluctantly pulled his fingers away. They'd been on Dean too long already. But they felt cold in his lap. "So. What's the blonde's name?" 

"Jessica." Dean nodded, and the muscle in his jaw twitched again. 

"She's cute. How long, uh-"

"Little over a year." Dean's jaw locked again. 

"And you didn't mention her once."

"Like you ever mention the people you sleep with when we talk."

"That's different and you know it." Sam sighed.

"I didn't think it mattered," he lied. Dean scoffed beside him.

"Fine. Well, when you get hitched, say something. Maybe I'll mail ya a wedding present." Sam groaned.

"It's not like I'm trying to shut you out, Dean, Jesus. You don't have to be a dick about it. I'm sure there are a million things you haven't told me. I mean- how many times since I've been gone have you almost died?" He asked the question as casually as he could, but he felt his body tense, giving him away. That was the biggest question on his mind since he'd left. And if Dean had been hunting alone, without John... it would be Sam's fault if he _had_ died. He felt Dean's eyes on him.

"Why? Because you suddenly care?" Sam turned, his mouth dropping open.

"Of course I care, you idiot." Dean huffed and went silent. Sam followed suit, fuming as he stared out the window into the darkness. By the time Dean pulled up the hotel, Sam wanted to punch a wall. Or Dean. He wasn't sure which or why and that just made it worse. He slipped out of the car instead, throwing his backpack over his shoulders as he stormed into the front office. The clerk gave him an alarmed look, and he realized he was scowling. And the way he looked, he couldn't get away with scowling without looking like a serial-killing lumberjack. He forced a laughably fake smile onto his face. 

"Could we get a room, please?" he asked, feeling Dean glowering beside him. The poor clerk nodded, swallowing visibly. 

"Er- yeah. Yeah, sure. Two queens or a king?" 

"Two queens," Sam spat at the same time as Dean. They shot each other a glare before turning back to the poor frightened man behind the desk. 

"Sure," he squeaked, handing the paperwork to Sam. Dean grabbed it before he even had a chance to look, and he rolled his eyes, scowling again before remembering that Dean probably had a fake credit card. He didn't. He stood awkwardly at the desk as Dean stabbed a pen at the paper repeatedly, trying not to traumatize the desk boy any more than he already had. Finally they got their key. "Er- s-second floor down the hall to your left." 

"Thank you..." Dean obviously checked out the kid's name tag, meeting his eyes stone-faced. His serial-killer or FBI look. Sam groaned to himself. "Dennis. We'll be seeing you." It sounded menacing. Dean made it worse with a strangely intense grin. Sam grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the desk, trying to ignore Dean's hot skin against his fingertips. 

"What was that for?" Sam asked.

"Kid was acting like a little bitch."

"No he wasn't!" Dean pretended look puzzled for a moment, then his face mostly cleared, aside from the tension at his eyebrows. He dramatically wagged a finger at Sam. 

"Oh, that's right, you were." 

Sam groaned, throwing open the hotel door and storming inside. He took the far bed, throwing his backpack at the foot of it. 

"Seriously, Dean? I come all the way out here to help you and we're going to do this?"

"Keep on the way you have, this might my last chance to see you. Last chance to do this," Dean said, arms crossing out in front of him. Sam huffed out a laugh.

"Fine. Let's do it, then. What's your problem? That- that I found someone and I didn't tell you about it? Come on, that's-"

"My problem is that you fucking left!" Dean snarled, loud enough to be heard down the hall. Sam froze. "You fucking left me to live this life by myself. After, by the way, what we did together. That last time. You practically screwed me, and then you _left_ , Sam."

"So now you know how the multitude you did that to felt-" Sam snapped without thinking. Dean huffed out that horrifyingly cold half-laugh again.

"Oh do I? Because all of those people- their brothers just- just almost _fucked_ them. And then left." Sam flinched backward. "After- after that." Dean shrugged at him, jaw taut, eyes swinging between Sam and the ceiling. "Just left- said they might never be back. Because you said that. Do you remember? The night you left? You hugged me and you whispered in my ear, 'I'm gonna miss you. This might be the last time I see you.'" Most of Sam's anger flew from his body and he watched as Dean began to pace. "Do you have _any_ idea what it was like for me? Those first few months? I wasn't sure if you were going to jump off a bridge- do something else stupid. I called hospitals- fucking _morgues_ , Sam. I thought what I- what we did- I thought you were so torn up over it you were gonna do something crazy. And then you didn't. You were _fine_. You were fine with leaving me- with all of this. While I was over here freaking the fuck out over you-"

"You think I was fine?" Sam asked, his voice deadly cold. "You think I just left and my life was gold?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Dean, I didn't sleep for weeks. I drank myself under the table- drank until I was too sick to drink any more. And you think I was just fine-"

"You chose to leave." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I did, Dean. To protect you-"

"From 'molesting' me. Bullshit. That's not enough. You wouldn't just leave for that. You wanted to be free- wanted to be free of dad, of the life, of _me_ -"

"That's not true," Sam practically shouted, stepping toward Dean. Dean sneered at him. 

"Oh, it's not? Then why'd you never call? Why'd you never write- never let me know you were alive unless I reached out first? Why'd you have a girlfriend for a _year_ and not tell me? I'm not stupid-"

"Yes you fucking are," Sam growled. He resisted the urge to punch Dean's angry face, reeled himself in, took a few deep breaths. He took a step back and sat at the edge of his bed. "I left because I had to." Dean snorted.

"Right. Okay. You left because you 'felt bad.'" Dean did air quotes around the last two words. Sam glowered until Dean looked away. "Look, I need to sleep. We can do this case and never have to see each other again, alright? Just like you want." Then to Sam's horror, Dean moved toward Sam's backpack, grabbing it without permission, his hand on the zipper-

"No, don't!" Sam yelped, and Dean turned, angry confusion in his eyes as he unzipped the bag.

"What? You've always got toothpaste," he said. 

The full-to bursting bag spilled its contents all over Dean's lap and the floor. Sam's heart stopped. The world froze. Everything narrowed down to the objects he'd carefully placed in his go bag, carefully packed so that he'd have them if he ever had to leave in a hurry. A dog-eared book of Bukowski poetry. A postcard from Salem, Massachusetts. A hand-hammered horseshoe. A handful of trinkets from across the country. And at the top of the pile, blatant and obvious and more proof than Dean could ever possibly need, was what was left of the packaging of Estes Park fudge. The first thing Dean had sent him. For a moment neither of them spoke. They just stared at the keepsakes, everything Dean had sent. Everything Sam had packed, kept so carefully close to him. 

"Sam." Dean started, looking up at Sam like he was seeing him for the first time. Sam forced himself to meet Dean's eyes.

"It's not what it looks like," he mumbled, knowing Dean would know it was _exactly_ what it looked like. He might as well have written 'Dean + Sam' inside a giant heart on the cover of his diary. Dean knew him well enough to see through anything he could say. Neither of them kept much. Not moving around as much as they did. Go bags were for essentials, maybe a few small sentimental things. Not like this.

"Sammy, I- fuck." Sam stared up at the ceiling. Nothing could be worse than this. Everything he'd run from, everything he'd worked so hard to make sure Dean never found out was spilled out on the cheap hotel carpeting. Inappropriate sexual attraction was one thing. This- this was another. Darker, so much worse. Everything he'd dreaded Dean ever knowing. 

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Sam-"

"Go to bed, Dean," Sam said, tugging the covers over himself. That was the only thing that would get Dean to leave him alone. Dean hated talking about feelings. If Sam refused to talk, he'd just go to sleep. Maybe in the morning he'd think he was wrong. Maybe Sam would be able to leave him with the impression that he'd read things incorrectly, that Sam was the selfish dick that left just to get away. Tonight, if he talked he'd only make things worse. So he curled up under the blanket and turned to face the wall.

"Sammy," Dean said, a strange break in his voice that Sam hadn't heard for a long time.

"Goodnight, Dean," Sam said, trying to keep his own voice even. A hand touched his shoulder, just for a second. Then it moved away, and Dean sighed loudly. The bedsprings on the other bed creaked. Lights clicked off. And Sam lay awake all night.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam woke to a pillow hitting his head. He grunted, blearily opening his eyes, resigned to seeing Jess above him. He blinked. Hotel. He was in a hotel, and he'd gotten maybe an hour of sleep. He was with Dean- he glanced to his left to see Dean tugging his pajama shirt off, grinning at him. A real grin. Sam tried to force himself awake, groaning. The sight of Dean shirtless, wearing only very tight boxer briefs, walking around the room did it. He was awake. He drank it in, shame curling around lust in his stomach as he took in all the new scars on Dean's muscled body, the swagger in his walk, soft sway in his hips. His mind tried to reconcile that with what happened last night... Dean should be running. Should be hiding from him. Telling Sam to get the Hell out, but here he was, half-naked, looking at Sam the same way he always had.

"Be ready to go in ten, Sammy. I've got a fairly good idea where these guys are hiding out. But I want to talk to some of the other kids. See if they've seen anything." Sam tried to drag his gaze away. He really did. But his eyes kept going back to Dean, watching his brother dress, watching the curve of his ass as he tugged his jeans over his boxers. He cleared his throat, shaking his head from side to side.

"Yeah," he managed. "Yeah, I'll be ready." Dean turned his head, and just for a second seemed to catch Sam's gaze. He grinned again, and Sam was sure he imagined it.

"Better get out of bed then, Gigantor." Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Sam grabbed his pair of fresh clothes from his bag, noticing that Dean had carefully replaced everything that spilled out the night before. He checked the front pocket. His toothpaste was missing and he rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.

"Dean! You take my toothpaste?" Dean's head popped out from the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth and evidence around the corners of his lips.

"No," Dean said, the sound garbled through the toothbrush. He gave Sam a wink and disappeared back into the bathroom. Sam sighed, grabbing his toothbrush and following. He snatched his toothpaste from the counter, sticking his tongue out at Dean. Dean just grinned as he washed his own brush off. For just a second, things were normal, the way they'd always been. They fell back into the same routine that had always worked: needling each other. Sam elbowed Dean away from the sink, earning a shove into the counter. Sam's middle finger was raising before he was aware of it, and Dean huffed.

"Learned some new tricks up at college. Look at you, all grown up and flippin' people off like a pro." Sam shot him a disdainful glare over his toothbrush.

"That's not college. Think I learned that one from you when I was ten." Dean shrugged.

"Then _perfected_ at college. Hey, hurry up. I want to grab coffee before we hit up the daycare."

"The- the daycare?" Dean disappeared back into the main room. "Dean? _Daycare_?"

Sam sat in the front seat of the Impala, letting himself relax. Just a little. Just enough. He could soak up Dean while he was here, use that to get him through the next months or years or forever without his brother. That would be fine. If he could just be around Dean now... he relaxed into the seat, feeling the familiar leather all around him. 

"So- a daycare. This is pretty low, even for us," Sam said. Dean shrugged.

"We need to talk to the kids. Pose as child trauma specialists- say a guy in contact with them- a pediatrician, name of Brian Jones- might have traumatized em or whatever. It's a good cover, Sammy." Sam sighed.

"I just wish- I wish we could be honest with people." Dean shot him an amused look.

"You want to walk into a daycare and say a monster with a weird-ass retractable hand-boner is stalking and abducting their kids- be my guest. Hell, I'll film it if you want." Sam snorted. Dean gave him a side-eyed glance, then fixed his eyes straight on the road ahead of him. "I missed you, you know." There was a beat of silence, Dean looking straight ahead, adamantly refusing to meet Sam's gaze. Sam stared at him, feeling his mouth fall open. He forced it shut. Dean cleared his throat, sincerity disappearing. "Not as fun doing this shit without someone to rip on." 

"I-I missed you too, Dean." Dean shot him a smirk.

"Course you did. I'm awesome." Sam snorted. 

"I wouldn't go that far. Life just gets boring without you around being an asshole." 

"Ah, you like it when I'm an asshole." Sam gave him a lofty look.

"Pay attention to the road, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean muttered. Sam wished he could freeze the moment and live there, live in the seconds before he left again, here where things felt normal and familiar. He found himself smiling without knowing quite why. 

Dean charmed his way into the daycare with a smile and a flash of his fake child protective services badge. Sam just followed. Dean's magnetism could get them just about anywhere, and sometimes the best thing for Sam to do was stand behind him quietly and wait. He wondered, remembering their conversation from so long ago, if he was looming. He took a step back as Dean led the way into the classroom. The kids sat around their teacher in a circle, and Dean sat in the middle of them all, smiling around the room. Sam stood off to the side, watching. Dean was so damn good with kids. It shouldn't have gotten to Sam, but it did, watching his brother make the little ones laugh- it hit his heart hard. 

"So," Dean said once the teacher had excused herself and the kids were relaxed enough around him, playing with each other and giving him only the slightest bit of attention. "I was wondering if you guys could help me. We- my giant friend over there and I-" Sam rolled his eyes, catching Dean's smirk- "We're looking for a monster. This guy- he looks like you," Dean said, pointing to a blonde five-year-old boy. "Big, tall, strong- a grown-up. But he had a big stick that stuck out of his hand sometimes. Scary. You guys see anything like that?" A little girl nodded.

"Mistoh Charlie was like dat," she said solemnly. Another little boy nodded. 

"Mister Charlie who used to work here?" Dean asked. Several of the kids nodded. "And- did a lot of you see his-" Dean gestured with his arm, looking more like a t-rex than a wraith. Still, the kids nodded.

"He said not to tell," a tiny boy with dark hair and sunken eyes said. "Said it was a secret."

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell," Dean promised, crossing his heart. "Did you ever see anybody else like him? With a-" he did the t-rex-like motion again. The kids were silent, eyes wide. "No?"

"No," the first girl to speak said. Dean frowned, nodding solemnly. 

"Well, thank you, guys. You taught me a lot." He stood, gesturing toward the door. Sam led the way out. Once they were safely back in the Impala, Dean turned to same, eyes focused and hard as they always were when he was talking about a case. "Guy we're looking for is Charles Fairchild. I was pretty sure before- kids confirmed it. He worked at the daycare for about five years, just got fired two weeks ago. Disappearances started right after that. Guess once he couldn't get easy access anymore, he started bringing his supply to him. Only thing I can't figure out is who's working with him. Because I saw em the other night. There were two shadows. Just couldn't follow fast enough."

"What if it's not a wraith helping him?" Sam asked. "What if they're human?" Dean frowned.

"Why'd a human ever help a monster like that go after kids?"

"Dunno," Sam admitted, frowning. "If our monster's charismatic- maybe he made a friend? Someone he could charm into doing what he wanted?"

"Maybe," Dean said slowly. "Still feel like we're missing something."

"You said you know where Fairchild might be-"

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding. "Yeah- he lives a few blocks from here. Creepy old house. Of course. Perfect location for hiding this kind of thing. But Sam- I'm thinking you stay at the front. Backup, right? Just in case? I'll go in first." Sam rolled his eyes.

"My ass, you're going in alone. Absolutely not."

"You're a college boy now. You're just here in case-"

"I'm here to help shut this down. Which, by the way, you brought me here for."

"Sammy."

"Don't be stupid, Dean. I can handle myself." 

"Prove it." Dean looked at him expectantly, holding his arms out in a half-Jesus. Sam frowned.

"What- you want me to fight you right outside a daycare? Getting the police on our asses- that's really going to help." Dean gestured to the Impala.

"We go somewhere. You prove you can handle it. Then tonight we take the fuckers out."

"I don't need to prove anything," Sam said. Dean gave him a look, all challenge and spitfire. Sam glared at him. "Fine. You want to do this? Let's do it. Find a place." 

They were silent the entire drive to the field. Sam felt the anger of last night creeping up in him again. After everything they'd been through, how dare Dean think he wouldn't be able to handle a simple wraith? He slammed the door and stepped into the field, waiting.

"Nothin' too hard," Dean said, shrugging off his leather jacket. "Don't want to get hurt before we deal with the monsters. Just gotta check your refle-" Sam lunged at him before Dean could even finish his sentence. It wasn't like he'd slacked off on his training. If anything, he went to the gym more, sparred in hand-to-hand more, at school than he had before. And he'd gotten even bigger in the meantime, big enough that he dwarfed Dean. He had his brother pinned in seconds, Dean on his back in the dirt with his legs spread apart and hands tugged above him. Sam scowled down at Dean.

"See?" Then he caught a glance at Dean's face. Dean swallowed visibly, his lips parted, eyes knowing, glancing up at Sam with a different sort of challenge. Sam gulped. He felt hot. Dean looked up at him, something smug in his glance, like this was exactly where he'd wanted to end up, and Sam's body responded the way it always had, his dick growing hard in his jeans, mind going blank seeing Dean spread out beneath him like this, submissive, surrendering. A flash of anger surged through him again, and he exerted more pressure on Dean's wrists. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said, his voice husky, hardly more than a whisper. "Yeah it is." Sam leaned forward until his nose was an inch from Dean's. He wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss him or punch him. 

"Maybe you're not ready for this," he said instead, pushing into Dean's wrists until Dean exhaled sharply. Sam shivered with cold satisfaction. "Maybe I should make you be my backup. And I'll go in alone."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, his cheeks flushed. Sam watched him with satisfaction. "Sam- please, man- just-"

"Please what?" Sam asked, and his tone sounded practically dangerous. He watched his brother squirm beneath him, and his conscience told him he should move away, should end this- he ignored it, the strange blend of lust and anger boiling in his stomach. Anything he did- it wouldn't matter. It couldn't matter. He was only here for a few days- Dean acted like he wanted this- at least the physical part... Whatever happened wouldn't matter if he never saw Dean again. Dean swallowed again.

"Just- Please- touch me, Sam, please-" Sam felt himself break. Dean pretending to want him again. It was too much. He couldn't hold himself back. His lips pressed to Dean's, his body leaned forward, blanketing Dean's. Dean was hard beneath him, his body writhing with each of Sam's small motions, his lips parting, letting Sam in. Sam let himself go for a minute, maybe two, then forced himself away. He pulled his lips away first, then shrugged his body off of Dean, sparing his brother a glance. Guilt filled him again. Dean was doing this to get him to stay. Not because he wanted it. Sam couldn't abuse that.

"I can't- I can't do that to you," he muttered. "Not again-"

"I want you, Sam," Dean said quietly. Sam stared at him, his heart beating hard, trying to pick out the lie. He couldn't see a lie on Dean's face. He must be missing something.

"I can't," he repeated, hating himself. It took all his will to keep himself from jumping back on top of Dean and taking him right there in the middle of the tall wheat grass. But Dean nodded, glancing away. And Sam restrained himself.

Sam didn't know what to do. So he stood up and walked back to the Impala. After a few minutes, Dean followed. They didn't speak. They just went back to the motel and ignored each other until night fell. Then Dean turned to him, hint of embarrassment still in his eyes.

"Ready to go?" he asked, not quite meeting Sam's eyes. Sam nodded.

"Yeah- yeah, let's go." 

Dean drove them to the house, the Rolling Stones playing softly in the background. Sam glanced at Dean a few times, but Dean's eyes were focused strictly on the road ahead of them, and he gave up. He'd ruined any chance they had at reconciliation when he forgot to take all those stupid things Dean had sent out of his go bag. He'd ruined everything the second Dean saw that, and now- now he'd fucked everything up more. He looked to Dean once more as Dean pulled up in front of the house, and Dean finally turned back to him, forced grin on his face. 

"Got your silver bullets in?" he asked. Sam nodded. "Awesome. Let's fuck this fucker up and save the kids."

"Dean," Sam started, but Dean's face was as closed off as Sam had ever seen it. He sighed. "Alright, let's do it." Together they crept around the side of the house. They glanced in the windows, only to find everything quiet. Dean beckoned Sam forward, and kicked the back door in. Sam followed, sweeping the ground behind them before following Dean down the steps and into the basement. It was quiet. Very quiet. Dean went first, and all Sam wanted to do was pull him back, keep him out of any potential harm's way. He restrained himself, following Dean closely, watching their backs. Dean stalked forward into the basement, gun stretched in front of him. Sam was a foot back. 

"FBI," Dean called, voice harsh as he bounded down the last steps. "Stop what you're doing!" Sam followed, his gun out, aiming around the room until he caught sight of the main threat. A man sat in the center of the room. A wraith. Because the thing sticking out of his hand was anything but human. And right now, it was aimed at the back of a small child's head, the wraith's face lit up in a grin.

"Hunters, huh? I'm big enough that I got hunters?" 

"Big man," Dean spat. "Preying on five year olds. Yeah, real tough fucker, you are."

"Take another step and he dies," the monster snarled. Sam scanned the room. Along the edges, the shadows of more children sat, probably chained to the walls. He caught sight of a lone figure, though, standing, too tall to be a child. He crept toward her, trusting Dean to keep the monster's attention. 

"Alright," Dean said, lowering his gun. Sam frowned, but kept moving. It was all he could do. "Alright, what do you want?"

"Let me take this one and go," the creature snarled, betraying itself with a glance in the tall shadow's direction. Sam was so close- all attention on the monster- "Let me take him, you save the rest, right? Good deal for us both." 

"Right," Dean said with a huff. "And what's the guarantee you'll leave the rest?" Sam reached the shadow and pulled a silver knife, holding it against her- because the shape was decidedly female- throat. 

"Wouldn't move, if I was you," Sam called. The monster whipped toward him, and Dean crept forward. The girl trembled beneath his touch, but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. She'd conspired against kids, after all. Sam pressed the silver against her throat and she let out a sharp gasp.

"Aaron, give him what he wants," the girl called, silenced almost immediately as Sam let the blade cut into her skin. The monster growled, and before Sam could even blink, it let go of the kid and had its hand up against Dean's throat.

"Don't hurt him," Sam cried before he was aware of speaking. "Please-"

"Sammy, don't you let go of the bitch," Dean cried, and the monster's stick pushed close against his skin. Sam's heart skipped a beat. 

"Please-" he managed. "Please don't-"

"Let me go, you keep the bitch and he survives," the monster cawed. The girl in Sam's grasp shuddered. 

"No- What are you doing?" she shrieked. Sam nodded, his knife lowering.

"Yes- please, just don't hurt him-" And then Dean's hand moved upwards sharply, silver blade catching in the monster's throat. Sam threw the girl away, and she ran. He didn't try to stop her. He ran to Dean, his arms falling around Dean's shoulders as Dean looked up at him, annoyed.

"I said don't let her go, Sam," Dean muttered, but Sam huffed out a laugh.

"I thought you were dead," he admitted, tugging Dean up until their faces were mere inches apart. "Christ, I thought you were dead-" And he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't possibly do anything but tug Dean's face to his, but press his lips against his, a victory, a reminder that they were both alive, and Dean was here- beneath him. Dean tugged away.

"Sammy," he said, eyes wide. "Don't do this unless you really want it. Don't do it just for me-"

"Dean, I love you," he said before he could stop himself. Dean's eyes widened, and Sam felt his brother searching his face. 

"You-" And then Dean's lips were on him again, hot and ferocious, needy, his teeth breaking the skin of Sam's bottom lip. He broke away, green eyes meeting Sam's. "You fucking idiot. I thought you'd never admit it." His arms wrapped around Sam's neck, warm and steady weight, and Sam couldn't help but relax into the embrace, his lips pressing desperately back to Dean's. Dean pulled back again. "Stay. Please, Sammy, stay with me- don't leave again."

"I'll stay," Sam said. There wasn't another option. He belonged where Dean was. Leaving the first time had been agony. Leaving again would be torture. "I'll stay- Dean- I just- I ruined you-" Dean snorted, his hand gripping Sam's chin firmly.

"I've been in love with you since you were fifteen." Sam's mouth fell open and he gaped at Dean like an idiot. "You didn't ruin me. Always wanted this."

"You- this is a chick flick moment," Sam said stupidly, unable to think of anything else. Dean glared at him, but made no motion to extract himself from Sam's grasp. His arms remained around Sam's neck, their bodies so close that Sam felt more of Dean than he did himself. Dean clung to him.

"You're a goddamn idiot," Dean said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Jesus, Sammy. I thought- fuck." They grinned at each other for a second. Sam felt like his body was made of light, Dean's arms warm and steady around his shoulders. "C'mon, we need to get these kids out of here." Sam nodded in agreement, reluctantly letting go of Dean.

"I didn't think you-"

"Yeah, I hide it better than you, because I'm smarter," Dean said with a grin. His fingers brushed against Sam's, though, and his grin was half-uncertain, like he thought Sam might still run away. "I didn't know. Not really. Until I saw your bag."

"I didn't know until now." Dean gave him a cocky grin, and Sam's brain immediately jumped to all the ways he could wipe that expression off Dean's face. Not now, though, not yet. He picked the locks and unchained the kids. That would have to wait until they were back at the hotel.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, guys! Thanks for sticking around with me on this one. I'll probably add an epilogue, but this is the end of the main story.

Dean's hands, both of them (he was nervous, Sam thought), gripped the steering wheel. Sam wasn't nervous. Adrenaline and anticipation pumped through him, but he wasn't nervous. He knew how to do this part.

"What- uh. What about Jessica?" Dean asked. Sam glanced at him.

"Oh- I didn't tell you, she broke up with me. Figured there was something going on from- ya know, seeing us together." Dean's face cleared a little. 

"I'm sorry," he said in the most unconvincing tone Sam had ever heard. Sam snorted.

"I just bet you are." Dean grinned to himself.

"She knew just by lookin' at you, huh? Smart girl. Man, you must have been a mess without me." Sam rolled his eyes.

"I could take you or leave you," he lied. Dean chuckled beside him.

"Oh sure you could. That's why your girlfriend took one look at your face when I broke in and decided she wanted out."

"Have you always been such a dick? Did I just forget?"

"Hey, you love my dick," Dean said. Sam cracked a grin, unable to help himself. 

"You're in a good mood."

"Got the monster, saved the kids, got you to admit you want to bone me-"

"I don't remember saying-"

"That's cus your memory blows." Dean pulled up to the hotel and parked, his fingers banging out a quick beat on the steering wheel. Sam watched. 

"What're you waiting for? You scared?" Dean flipped him off and bit his bottom lip. Sam felt a flush of desire go through him at the sight.

"No, bitch. I'm not scared. Just- This is a big line to cross. If we do it- Sammy, if we do it, are you gonna freak out and leave again?" Sam frowned, and without thinking reached out and touched Dean's cheek with the back of his hand. Dean leaned into his touch for a moment, his eyes closing, some of the worry melting from his face. 

"I left because I was scared- what it would do to you if you knew. I thought- I thought you'd force yourself to go along with it or hate me or- I don't know. I thought it'd ruin your life."

"Well, you were a dumbass," Dean said. He didn't move his face from Sam's hand. Sam inclined his head.

"Yeah. I was a dumbass. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left." Dean nodded, eyes still closed. "I won't leave again. Not unless you want me to."

"Fine by me," Dean said gruffly. Sam let his hand sink lower, watching Dean's eyes snap open and his tongue dart out across his bottom lip as Sam gently squeezed his throat, massaging his pulse points until Dean let out a harsh gasp. Sam let go, feeling his own blood pounding in his veins.

"Let's go." Sam said. Dean followed him without another word. Sam paused at the trunk, grabbing a long coil of rope and slinging it over his arm. Dean wet his lips, eyes widening ever so slightly.

"What- Whatcha doing there, Sammy?"

"You'll see," Sam said. Dean didn't push it.

They passed the front desk, and Dennis shrank in his chair. Sam gave him an open grin, arm snaking around Dean's waist. Dennis uncurled.

"Hey, Dennis," Sam said cheerfully, grabbing Dean's ass hard enough that Dean let out a yelp. Dennis gulped visibly, looking confused. 

"H-hey guys," he said. Sam tugged Dean along. Dean looked up at Sam, lips parting once more. 

"That was a dick move," he muttered, but he didn't try to shove Sam's hand away. "In front of _Dennis_. Had that guy thinking I was a real badass yesterday. Now what's he gonna think?"

"The truth," Sam murmured into Dean's ear as he shoved him toward the stairs, the feel of Dean's soft ass still in his hand. "That you're my bitch." 

Dean turned to him, pupils taking over his irises. He didn't say anything, just hurried to the door, his hand fumbling with the key. Sam tugged it from his hand, easily fitting it into the reader. He loomed, purposefully loomed just behind Dean, not quite touching him. If Dean was going to let Sam call him Sam's bitch, Sam was pretty sure he could get away with a lot right now. And he fully intended to push it. The light flashed green and the door clicked. Sam pressed it open, reaching over Dean. He let the front of his body press into Dean's back, noting the shiver he got in response as he shifted Dean into the room.

"Good news and bad news," he said cheerfully, spinning Dean against the wall face-first. Sam's arm wrapped around Dean's stomach, and his chin settled in the groove of Dean's shoulder, lips meeting Dean's neck. He paused for a long moment, drinking his brother's trembling body in. 

"W-What's the bad news?" Dean asked. Sam sighed, moving his lips away.

"Always such a pessimist. We're starting with the good news." Sam bit down gently on the spot just beneath Dean's ear, earning him a sharp gasp. He felt the goosebumps that rose over Dean's skin with his tongue, chuckling to himself. "Good news is I've watched you- I've _known_ you long enough to know exactly what you need." He let his teeth scrape down Dean's neck, drawing a sharp breath from his brother.

"Bad news?" Dean asked, voice husky and strained.

"Not all of it's sex-related. And there might be one or two chick-flick moments before this is all over." 

"That- that is bad news," Dean said, voice shaking as Sam's arm wrapped up his chest. Sam felt his brother's trembling body beneath him, and he couldn't help but tug Dean close, forcing Dean's ass up against his already half-hard cock. 

"But there will be sex," he promised. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back. Not now. Not when he knew Dean wanted him too, that Dean had wanted him nearly as long as Sam had... Not with Dean's ass pressed right up against his dick, moving slightly up and down. Sam leaned forward until his lips brushed against Dean's earlobe. "Here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna tie you up to the bed. And I'm gonna touch you until you beg me to fuck you. Then I just might do that. If you earn it." Dean shivered, and Sam held him up easily, watching as Dean's hands reached back toward him, grabbing at his waist, the angle making it impossible to catch on to anything his brother really wanted. "That sound okay to you?"

"Whatever-" Dean's breath hitched. Sam watched him swallow hard, watched as he forced his muscles to stiffen, forced himself back against Sam. Then he jolted back hard, startling Sam for a second enough to get him to let go. Dean danced away, grinning at him. "Think you're gonna tie me down? Gonna have to work for it, Sammy. I ain't a two bit whore." Sam laughed in surprise, his eyes narrowing. 

"Really? You're going to make me hold your ass down _again_? Didn't get enough punishment earlier?" What Sam wanted was Dean pliant and submissive below him, begging for him, giving up to him... He just had to get him there. 

"Technically I think you're gonna have to hold down more than just my a-" Sam grabbed him around his chest and threw him onto the bed, slinging the coil of rope over his shoulder. 

"I keep forgetting you _like_ punishment. Probably didn't get enough earlier." Sam sat with his knees on either side of Dean's, his cock pressed into the cleft of Dean's ass as he roughly pulled Dean's hands behind his back. He tied them together, slipping a finger between the rope to make sure it wasn't too tight. He put pressure on Dean's wrists until they unclenched, and plucked the pocket knife from his fingers. Dean craned his head, grinning up at Sam. 

"Didn't think you'd catch that." Sam grinned back, turning Dean's head back and pressing it into the pillow.

"How many times have we used that trick? You 'didn't think I'd catch that.'" He rolled his eyes, leaning forward and pressing his cock hard against Dean's ass, pressing his lips right below Dean's ear. Dean shivered beneath him. "I think you just want to be with someone you can try that shit with. Someone who'll find it, who can actually _beat_ you." Dean tried to kick at him and Sam grinned, cutting the rope at his hands and moving downward to tie Dean's ankles together. He yanked Dean's pants and boxers down past his knees and watched as Dean squirmed like he was trying to get out. Sam tied his thighs too, just to be safe.

"Fuck you, Sammy," he said, but there was no anger behind it, just want.

"If you're lucky. He ran a hand lightly across Dean's ass, watching as Dean stilled. He lifted Dean onto his lap, his hand palming Dean's ass. He squeezed it, feeling a rush of arousal at the sensation. It was even better than he'd thought it would be. He swallowed, getting himself under control before he kept talking. "None of those other guys could do it, could they? Even the ones as big as me. You're too strong. Too scrappy. But I got the same training you do and- what, a few inches and at least thirty pounds on ya. No wonder you fell for me." Dean chuckled.

"You fuc-" his word cut off into a sharp breath as Sam's hand smacked across his ass. "You don-" Sam smacked him again, harder this time. He felt Dean's boner brushing against his thighs, and stopped holding back. He brought his hand down again and again, hitting Dean's thighs, his ass, hard, over and over until Dean finally let out a yelp. Then he stopped, looking over his work with a grin. 

"So red," he murmured, gently stroking Dean's skin. Dean flinched.

"Sam," Dean said softly. Sam waited. "If you don't touch my cock right the fuck now, I'm never speaking to you again." Sam grinned, spanking Dean again so hard that his hand ached. Dean hissed.

"If you don't learn how things work here fast, you're not gonna get your cock touched at all," he warned. He pulled Dean off the bed, letting him land roughly on the floor. "On your knees." Dean glared at him and for a moment, Sam thought he wasn't going to do it. Then slowly Dean managed to tug himself up into a semi-kneeling position. "Good boy," Sam said on impulse. Dean's lips parted and his eyes got a little wider. Sam filed that away. He tugged off his clothes, noting in satisfaction the state Dean's were in, his shirt still on, pants pulled frantically down, his cock hard on his stomach. Sam took a step toward Dean, grabbing the back of his head and pushing his face forward until it was right next to Sam's cock. 

"Fuck," Dean said, his cheeks pink. He licked his bottom lip, and Sam knew he'd never see anything hotter in his life. "You're so big, Sammy," he said in an almost reverent whisper. Sam tugged at Dean's hair until he looked up, until Sam could see that brilliant green flashing up at him. Then he ran his fingers through Dean's hair, unable to take his eyes away. Dean's closed, and Sam yanked his hair again until they opened.

"Want a safeword?" Dean shook his head. "Too bad. Safeword's Poughkeepsie. Got it?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice soft as he looked up at Sam, waiting. Sam felt a sudden rush of emotion, but he covered it up as he shoved his cock against Dean's mouth without warning. Dean's lips parted and Sam was surrounded by wet heat. He groaned, eyes sliding shut and hand tightening around Dean's short hair. Slowly, letting Dean get used to it, he pushed himself into Dean's mouth until he met resistance. 

"God, Dean," Sam moaned, holding Dean's head in place, just taking in the feeling of it. "Your mouth-" 

Slowly, carefully so he wouldn't hurt his brother, he began to thrust in and out, pushing about half his cock into Dean's mouth, feeling his soft lips, the brush of his tongue, the pleasure of it surrounding him. Dean made a sound and Sam pulled out.

"Jesus, Sam-" Dean started, then stopped. His tone changed and Sam grinned in satisfaction. He was learning. "You don't have to keep treatin' me like I'm made of glass, if you don't want to. I can take it." Sam's hand slipped beneath his chin, feeling the soft skin of Dean's neck, taking in Dean's sharp intake of breath. 

"Want me to fuck your face?" he asked. Dean nodded. "Then ask for it. Nicely." Dean swallowed hard against Sam's hand, probably weighing his pride against what he wanted. Sam waited, not sure which would win. 

"Please fuck my face, Sammy," Dean whispered, not meeting his eyes. Sam patted his face gently, then grabbed onto his head with both hands, forcing Dean's mouth back on his cock. 

"Good boy," he murmured. Then he started thrusting into Dean's mouth hard.

Dean just opened up for him, just sat there looking up at Sam, eyes watering, just letting Sam take his throat. Sam groaned, thrusting hard, forcing Dean's head in place. And with Dean's hands tied, all he could do was just sit there and take it. It didn't take long for Sam to get close. Reluctantly, he pulled Dean off, stroking his thumb down into Dean's mouth. His cock leapt when Dean's lips closed around it, his tongue licking at it.

"Fuck, Dean," he murmured, tugging Dean up. He kissed Dean hard again, biting his brother's bottom lip, holding Dean up, close to him. "Gonna tie you to the bed- play with you for hours-"

"Sam-Sammy please," Dean whispered, his voice breaking. "Please just fuck me- I need- need to feel you- please, just- just hold me down and-"

"Yeah," Sam said, plan falling apart at the sound of Dean's wrecked voice. "Yeah I can do that." He pushed Dean onto the bed and grabbed the knife. "Hold still," he warned as he cut the ropes on Dean's wrists. After a moment's hesitation, he cut through Dean's shirt too, rolling Dean over and throwing the remains to the floor. It was a testament to just how far gone his brother was that Dean didn't complain. He cut the rest of the rope off. 

"Take those off," he ordered. Dean obeyed quickly, pulling his jeans the rest of the way to the ground. "Good boy. Now bend over the bed." Dean obeyed again without a word of protest, and Sam's breath stuttered in his throat at the sight of Dean's beautiful body laid out in front of him. He grabbed his lube as quickly as he could, then returned to Dean, letting his fingertips trace down Dean's back, finding a few new scars, more muscle, mostly familiar canvas. "How'd you get that?" he asked, fingers lingering over a bitemark below Dean's ribcage.

"W-witch. In Kansas City," Dean said, his voice strained. Just one more thing Sam might have been able to prevent, had he been there. He frowned, but kept exploring, feeling a fresh round of goosebumps break out over Dean's skin. Sam stroked his brother's still-red ass, then let his finger slide between his cheeks, probing at Dean's entrance until Dean's breath hitched. He added lube, then gently pressed inside. Dean gasped, hips lurching toward Sam. Sam focused on his tight heat, on his breathing, slowly fucking him open.

"So. When did you know you loved me?" he asked, adding another finger and scissoring them apart. Dean sucked in a deep breath.

"Do we have to- right _now_?"

"While you're all vulnerable," Sam said, curling his fingers until Dean moaned, then stilling. "Otherwise you'll never tell me."

"God- move- please, move- I-"

"Tell me, and I'll give you what you want." Dean made a sound that almost had Sam caving, almost had him ripping his fingers out and shoving his cock in- but he held himself back.

"I- it was after I sent a guy home one night," Dean whispered. "You just grabbed me and pulled me up against you and- and I dunno. Made this sound. Like this- this happy sound- and you just held me there and I knew it. Knew I wanted you- I-" Dean cut off into a harsh gasp as Sam moved his fingers, rubbing them over that spot in Dean that made him boneless and compliant.

"And you never told me," Sam said, shaking his head. He added a third finger and roughly thrust them into Dean, curling them up each time. Dean made obscene sounds, his hips thrusting back desperately.

"Please-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Sam-" Dean said, turning his head. His desperate eyes met Sam's, but Sam just kept the pace the same, tugging groans from his brother's throat until Dean drew in a sharp breath. "You didn't tell _me_. Thought I was a psycho. 'N you were a _kid_. Sam, _please-_ I need you- God-"

"I know," Sam said, amazed at his self-control as he stroked Dean's back with his free hand, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, evenly, drawing more broken sounds from Dean. "I want to hear you say it first."

"S-say what?" Dean asked. 

"Say, 'Sammy, I love you.'"

"I- dammit," Dean groaned, muscles straining. He stayed still, though, letting Sam do what he wanted. "Sammy, I love you. Always." Sam tugged his fingers out, unable to restrain himself a second longer. He shoved Dean forward face-first onto the bed and climbed on top of him, loving the way his body blanketed Dean's so perfectly. He lined himself up, other arm wrapping around Dean's chest. As he pushed inside his brother, as Dean gasped, ragged and desperate beneath him, he pushed his lips right below Sam's ear. 

"I love you too, Dean. More than anything." 

Then he slowly pushed in all the way, gasping at the feeling. Dean was so tight around him, so perfect, so close- He wrapped his arms around him, effectively pining Dean's to his sides, his lips finding their natural place on Dean's neck. For a moment, he stayed still, drinking it all in, letting his heart rate slow to something resembling normal. Dean let out slow gasps beneath him, but otherwise stayed still. Then Sam couldn't hold himself back anymore. He began to move, slowly at first, but soon faster. It felt out of his control, felt like his need to fuck Dean was so strong that it was instinctual, automatic. 

The feel of Dean's smaller body against his stomach made everything more intense, and he wanted to save each and every one of the sounds Dean made. Dean was finally making them for Sam, finally, finally where he belonged. Everything felt so overwhelming- so incredible- and it only took a few minutes before Sam was embarrassingly close to finishing. His hand fumbled downward, wrapping around Dean's cock. Dean gasped beneath him, hips jerking weakly back into Sam's thrusts. 

"Sammy- Sammy, gonna come- hard- please fuck me hard-" Sam lost his mind, his hips thrusting down hard on their own, tugging high-pitched moans from Dean. "Loveyouloveyou- God-" Dean's cock twitched and warmth filled Sam's hand. He couldn't hold back any longer. Two more thrusts and he was coming too, sucking down hard on Dean's shoulder to keep himself from screaming, his hips still mindlessly moving up against Dean. The waves of pleasure seemed to last forever, wiping his mind blissfully blank until nothing existed except Dean. It slowly faded, leaving Sam panting, breathless, Dean gasping beneath him. He rolled them onto their sides, hugging Dean close.

"That was- fuck, Sammy," Dean murmured weakly. Sam nodded, his chin slotting into Dean's shoulder. 

"Next time, it'll last longer," he promised. Dean snorted.

"Think there's gonna be a next time, then?" Sam grinned.

"After that, I don't think you're gonna be able to stay away from me." They sat in comfortably silence for a few moments. "It was better than I thought it was going to be. And I had high expectations."

"Yeah, you're not so bad yourself," Dean said. "So what now?" Sam sighed.

"Now, I guess, we do what we've always done. But we get rooms with one bed." 

"Nothing else changes," Dean agreed, pushing himself closer to Sam. He froze. "And I swear to god, Sammy, if you ever call me your bitch outside of sex again, I will beat your ass. I don't care how moosey you are. I'll find a way. Especially if you do it in front of Dennis." Sam grinned.

"Noted." 

They fell asleep like that, curled around each other, fingers tangled until Sam wasn't sure whose were whose anymore. For the first time in years, he slept great.


	11. Epilogue

Sam woke up with Dean sprawled across his chest, his brother's snoring rumbling across Sam's own body. Sam grinned, his hand carding through Dean's hair lazily, feeling the silky smoothness of it. Ever since they'd started sleeping together, ever since they'd started hunting together again, Dean had claimed rights to Sam's expensive shampoo. At first Sam had grumbled about it, but he'd come to like the feel of Dean's hair soft and smooth, liked the fact that Dean smelled like him. It was a way for Sam to mark him without even touching him. Dean stirred, flopping an inch or so to the left of his previous position.

"No chick-flick moments," he said sleepily. Sam's grin widened. 

"Touching your hair is a chick-flick moment?"

"I feel you lookin' at me with those- those stupid puppy-dog eyes," Dean said, not even bothering to turn his head. "Thinkin' chick-flicky thoughts. 'M on to you." Dean's heavy sleepy weight made Sam want to stay in bed all day. They already had, really, most of the afternoon and now into the evening. He still wasn't used to it, to being allowed to have- well, _this_. Dean naked against him with no guilt or shame, Dean wanting to be close to him. Sam sighed, clutching Dean closer for a moment before he could stop himself. Dean lifted his head and shot Sam a glare. 

"See? I knew it." But Dean's face nestled back against Sam's chest and Sam felt his brother's smile against his skin.

"If I say I don't think you mind too much will you hit me?" Dean's open palm hit Sam's shoulder lightly and Sam laughed. The laugh turned into a groan. "We should get up."

"Eat me."

"I just did." Dean snorted. "And I will, after we get the salt and burn done. But look- it's dark. We should get going or we'll be up all night."

"Sammy," Dean said, propping himself up on Sam's chest, their faces inches apart. "Life moves pretty fast-"

"You can't Ferris Bueller your way out of this. We gotta go." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Or. Hear me out. We could stay here. And I could ride your cock until you come. Twice. And then we could go." 

Sam's dick gave a twitch of interest, and he ran his fingers down Dean's side. Dean shivered, leaning forward to press his lips to Sam's. Sam kissed him back, marveling at the taste of him, at the fact that Dean was here, that they were both here together. He wrapped his arms around Dean once more, half-afraid he'd disappear if Sam didn't hold on tight. Dean let out a low sound, half-masked by an exhale. He pulled back, giving Sam a cocky grin, like he thought he'd already won. Sam gathered all of the self-control he had and shook his head.

"Tell you what," he murmured, grabbing the nape of Dean's neck and drawing Dean's face close enough to whisper in his ear. "If you're good, if we get this all done by ten, I'll take you back here, tie you up and fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk tomorrow. Then I say we take the rest of the week off and I pound you into the mattress until you beg me to stop. How's that sound?" He let go of Dean's head, and Dean looked at him with wide dark eyes. Sam chuckled to himself. "You're so easy, Dean. Takes a sentence to get you going." 

Dean flipped him off, groaning as Sam gently pushed him off the bed.

"That was two sentences, bitch." Sam watched Dean shimmy into his jeans, watched the perfect curve of his ass disappear. Dean grinned at him. "Well, come on, Sammy. Sooner we get this over with, sooner we can come back, right? Let's go."

They arrived at the old church, and Dean parked the car, sighing as he stared up at it. 

"What is it about churches that's just so- so fucking creepy? Any other old place like this it might almost be pretty. Fucking churches, though." Sam nodded.

"You know how many dead bodies roll through churches? Too goddamn many. That's why you don't like them. We've done enough work in churches that ghosts are all we think about." Dean nodded, glancing at Sam and giving him an obviously forced smile.

"Right, well. Let's send this dead bitch back where she came from." 

He clapped Sam's thigh, hand lingering a moment longer than necessary, then hopped out. Sam followed. They traipsed through the graveyard together, flashlight the only light. Moon was new and dark, and even the stars seemed dimmer than usual. They read the graves as they passed, Dean cursing after each one that wasn't 'Sarah Wipple.' The air was freezing, droplets of water hanging suspended all around them. Sam remembered just how much he hated the Northeast, wishing he'd thought to wear gloves. Finally they found her, a well-kept grave near the other end of the cemetery. 

"Sarah Wipple. 1979-1994. This is our girl," Dean said. Sam passed him a shovel and they got to work. There was something meditative about digging up graves. And if that right there didn't explain how fucked up Sam was, nothing would. But he couldn't help himself. Something oddly soothing about the hard physical work, about the repetition of dirt following dirt out of the ground. He let himself get lost in it, distracted only ever so often by the sight of Dean sweating beside him, muscles straining against his shirt as they worked. Finally, they opened the coffin and climbed out of the grave. 

"Want to do the honors?" Sam asked, throwing his shovel onto the grass. Dean shrugged, already salting the grave. Sam watched his brother fumble with the matches, then yelped in horror. "Dean!"

The girl stood beside him, dangerous-looking silver dagger in her hands. Dean turned just in time to grab her wrist. The ghost snarled and pressed harder. Sam rushed forward, grabbing his own matches. The first wouldn't light. His hand shook. 

"Sam-" Dean called. Sam glanced up. The blade was at his neck, Dean's arms straining to keep it away from his skin- Sam turned back, lit the match, threw it into the grave. The girl shrieked as her bones burned, her form disappearing into ash and smoke. The knife cluttered to the ground. 

"You good?" Dean asked. Sam laughed, breathless.

"Yeah. But I didn't have the knife to my throat. You good?" Dean nodded. They stared at each other for a long moment before Dean closed the distance between them, pressing their lips almost violently together. Sam clutched at him, pushing his tongue into Dean's mouth. He groaned as Dean pulled away, eyes gleaming with the strange sort of fire that only burned after a hunt.

"How the hell'd we ever do this before? Get through hunts without-" Dean gestured between them. "I mean, sometimes I swear to god sex is the only thing keeping me sane." Sam shivered, unwilling to let Dean go.

"People fuck after funerals. Makes them feel alive after coming face to face with death. So maybe-"

"Maybe. C'mon, let's clean this up." 

They filled the grave in silence and drove back to the hotel, covered in graveyard dirt and sweat. Dean grumbled about the Impala's upholstery, but when Sam suggested they clean it before going inside, Dean scowled and shook his head like Sam knew he would. Sam stroked the inside of Dean's thigh so softly he knew Dean would barely be able to feel it.

"I should have tied you to the gravestone and fucked you there. Sarah Wipple- SW, good initials- That'd be one way to own you." Dean practically leapt from the car, turning back to glare at Sam, pointing a finger at him that would be almost menacing if it wasn't Dean.

"You ain't givin' me a cemetery fetish. I've got enough random-ass kinks from you, and I swear to fuck-" Sam raised his hands in surrender, grabbing his bag and leading the way to the hotel room.

"I'm just saying. Fuck you while you've still got that adrenaline from fighting a ghost? Tie you up right where it happened where anyone could walk by? I could get you into it." Dean shoved him into the room, and Sam grinned.

"One rule. What's my one rule?"

"No fucking in front of dead people."

"That's it, Sammy."

"Technically when we took down that vamp-"

"Vamps ain't _people._ Fuck me in front of dead monsters all you want, but-" Sam pushed him into the wall, a hand finding Dean's throat and squeezing gently. Dean exhaled sharply, eyes turning dark again as Sam's thigh pressed gently between his legs, feeling his hardening cock. Sam loomed over Dean and lowered his voice.

"Or I could just- I don't know- overpower you, tie you up, and fuck you wherever the hell I want to fuck you," he said, watching Dean's lips part, his tongue sliding along his bottom lip, cheeks flushed. Sam chuckled, crowding Dean into the wall as his hand massaged Dean's pulse points. "So easy, Dean, look at you. So many buttons to push..." Sam's callous fingers felt each goosebump as Dean shivered.

"You just know me too well," Dean said, voice strained and husky. Sam felt him swallow. "Unfair advantage."

"You love it." Dean's eyes sparked with defiance. Sam grinned. "Are you really going to fight me tonight? You're tired, I'm tired- wouldn't it be better just to give in and let me give you what we both want?" Dean hesitated, his eyes darting to Sam's lips. "C'mon, Dean. Let me tie you up and fuck you," Sam said in a low voice, breathing each word onto Dean's neck. Dean swallowed again, harder this time.

"Yeah-yeah," he said, nodding into Sam's hand. "But only because I'd kick your ass right now. And I'd like to get fucked sometime tonight." Sam smirked and let go of him.

"Clothes off. Lay on your back." Dean glanced away and did as he was told. Sam stroked himself through his jeans, mouth going dry as Dean's clothes came off layer by layer. As much as he liked manhandling Dean into any position he wanted him in, there was something about his willing submission that was better. Dean giving himself up completely to Sam... actually doing what Sam told him to... Dean lay across the sheets, craning his neck to look at Sam.

"Head back," Sam ordered. Dean obeyed. Sam took off his own clothes. They were going to get the sheets filthy anyway with their dirty sweaty bodies, but he could at least try to minimize the damage. "Good boy," he murmured, running his hand along Dean's stomach, then his chest, his neck. Dean's breath stuttered and Sam grinned. He carefully tied Dean's wrists and ankles to the bed, marveling at how still Dean stayed, obediently staring up at the ceiling. His cock stood hard against his stomach, and Sam crawled between his legs, wrapping a hand around it, just enough pressure for Dean to know he was there. Dean hissed.

"Sam, c'mon," he said, hips lurching off the bed, thrusting into Sam's hand. 

"Man, you've been aching for it for hours, haven't you?" Sam asked cheerfully, sinking down and licking a stripe down Dean's balls, hand lazily holding Dean's dick. His free hand groped Dean's ass, and he groaned, unable to help himself. "I'm never going to get used this," he murmured. Dean whined as Sam let go of his cock and grabbed Dean's ass with both hands. "Your ass is fucking perfect."

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice breathier than usual. "Just like the rest of me. Now will you _please_ just-" Dean's words cut off into a sharp breath as Sam spread his cheeks wide and licked around his rim. Dean's skin was salty and warm, and Sam lunged forward, unable to wait, needing to hear Dean come unhinged. He pressed his tongue against Dean's hole, feeling it shudder, feeling the resistance until he pushed harder, sliding it in. Dean gasped harshly, hips twitching as Sam slowly licked him open. Sam's hands found Dean's hipbones and squeezed tightly, letting his nails bite into Dean's skin until his brother was panting, gasping with each thrust of Sam's tongue. 

"Sammy- please- I need somethin' in me," Dean murmured through gritted teeth. Sam pulled, looking up at his brother as he teased a finger around his rim. Dean squirmed toward him, groaning in frustration as the rope held him in place. Sam struggled to control himself. Every instinct he had wanted to be inside Dean already, fucking him hard and giving them both what they wanted. But teasing Dean was always worth it. He sat and waited, letting his free hand reach out and play with Dean's nipple until Dean was shivering and straining. Then he let his fingertips drag down Dean's body, watching in satisfaction as Dean shivered violently again.

"Beg for it," Sam said, his voice low with want. Dean huffed.

"Sam! Get your fucking fingers in me n-" Sam slapped his inner thigh, and Dean's teeth clamped together. He didn't make a sound. 

"Man, I did want to fuck you tonight," Sam said, pressing a centimeter of his finger into his brother before pulling it out and circling his skin again. Dean groaned. "But maybe I'll just face-fuck you instead and leave you tied up all night."

"Please," Dean said, just a hint of desperation in his voice. Sam waited, continuing the slow caress over Dean's body. Dean whined low in his throat, quiet enough that Sam would have missed it if he wasn't paying attention. "Sammy- please- I'll do whatever you want. Anything, just- please, man, you gotta give me something."

"Anything?" Sam asked. Dean closed his eyes and nodded, biting his lower lip. Sam slid his finger into Dean's open hole, groaning as he felt tight warmth enclose his finger. Dean gasped. "Shouldn't say things like that. I could make you do terrible things-" Sam punctuated the last words with pointed thrusts against Dean's prostate, earning a few muffled moans from his brother- "Sing karaoke, let me drive baby, sell your soul-"

"That's already yours," Dean said, his voice breathy. Sam paused, surprised, then added another finger, scissoring Dean open. "Sammy- 'm ready enough. I need you. Please-" Sam's self-control broke. He tugged his fingers out, falling on top of Dean and kissing him hard. When he pulled away, he was a little breathless. He lifted Dean's hips up as much as the ropes would allow and pushed into him hard. They groaned together at the feel of it. Sam slowly pushed all the way into Dean, savoring the feel of him, every sound his brother made. Once he was fully inside, he paused, emotion rising in his throat. He kissed Dean again, biting his bottom lip before pulling away.

"You're mine," he murmured, finally pulling almost all the way out then thrusting back into Dean. Dean threw his head back, baring his neck to Sam. His cheeks were red, lips already swollen and wet, but his eyes shined.

"Always have been, Sammy," he said huskily. "You know that."

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and fucked him hard, losing himself to the sensation of it, to each of Dean's moans, the way Dean clenched around him, impossibly hot and tight and perfect. He wrapped a hand around Dean's cock between their bodies, feeling how impossibly hard it was. Dean gasped, biting his lip, hips twitching into Sam's. Sam lost his rhythm, animal instinct taking over as he rutted into Dean, desperate for his release. Dean shivered beneath him, letting out a last desperate moan before twitching and coming in Sam's hand. Sam followed him over the edge, coming hard, clutching Dean tightly as he rode out his orgasm. When he finally came down, he pressed his lips to Dean's for a long moment before moving to untie him. Dean tugged him back to the bed, laying his head on Sam's chest. They lay there for a long moment, breathing heavily, tangled up in each other.

"I love you," Sam said before he could stop himself. Dean shot him a playful glare.

"No chick-flick-"

"You said your soul was mine like ten minutes ago," Sam whispered into his hair. "So I think I get to tell you I love you just the once tonight." Dean's arms clung to him, and they were silent for a long moment. 

"You mean it? About takin' a week off?"

"Yeah," Sam said smiling. "I say we go somewhere warm and just breathe for a couple days."

"Okay. But I'm drivin'."

"Of course." Dean lifted his head, then laid it back down. Sam waited patiently.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Dean seemed to hesitate. "What is it, Dean?"

"I love you. Bitch." Sam rolled his eyes. It was a start.


End file.
